«» •,  wr-Vlff-yr-'^  ryyon^ryTTyprn-rniX 


^^.F^^sy^r^- 


ri^. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA   ^^^'^^  niEGO 


3  1822  01680  1037 


Willy  Reilly  and  the  Cooleen  Bawn. 


WILLY    REILLY 


AND 


HIS  DEAR  COOLEEN   BAWN. 

BY 

WILLIAM   CARLETON. 


'  Oh,  rise  up,  Willy  Reilly,  and  come  alongst  with  me, 
1  mean  for  to  go  with  you,  and  leave  this  counterie, 
To  leave  my  father's  dwelling,  his  houses  and  free  lands: — 
And  away  goes  Willy  Reilly  and  his  fair  Cooleen  Bawn."— Balla». 

"  Ah  me  !  for  aught  that  ever  I  could  read, 
Could  ever  hear  in  tale  or  history, 
The  course  of  ti  ue  love  never  did  run  smooth." — Shakspsai 


ILLUSTRATED. 


CHICAGO  AND  NEW  YORK : 

3£LrOED,   CLAKKE   &   CO 


PRINTED  AND  BOUND  BY 

DONOHUE    &    HeXNEBERkI 

CinCAGO. 


CONTENTS. 


Pagb. 
PREFACE  TO  THE  FIRST  EDITION 7 

PREFACE  TO  THE  SECOND    EDITION         ....     12 

CHAPTER  I. 
An  Adventure  and  an  Escai>e I? 

CHAPTER  H. 
The  Cooleen  Bawn 29 

CHAPTER  III. 

Daring  attempt  of  the  Red  Rapparee  —Mysterious  Disappearance  of 
his  Gang — The  Avowal        ......         .         .    44 

CHAPTER  IV. 

A  Sapient  Project  for  our   Hero's  Conversion— His  Rival  makes  his 

Appearance,  and  its  Consequences       .  •         •         •         •     59 

CHAPTER  V. 
The  Plot  and  the  Victims 77 

CHAPTER  VI. 
The  Warning— An  Escape 9© 

CHAPTER  VII 

An  Accidental   Incident  favorable  to  Reilly,  and  a  Curious  Conver- 
sation ............    '07 

0) 


4  CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  Vlir 

FAGB- 

A  Conflagration — An  Escape — And  an  Adventure      .        .        ,        .118 

CHAPTER  IX 

Reilly's   Adventure   continued  —  A    Prospect   of    By-gone   Times — 

Reilly  gets  a  Bed  in  a  Curious  Establishment       .         ,         .         •   •  jS 


CHAPTER  X. 
Scenes  that  took  place  in  the  Mountain  Cave 149 

CHAPTER  XI 
The  Squire's  Dinner  and  his  Guests .  162 

CHAPTER  XII. 

Sir  Robert  meets  a  Brother  Sportsman — brawshis  Nets,  but  Catches 
Nothing 178 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

Reilly   is   Taken,   but   connived   at  by  the  Sheriff — The   Mountain 
Mass 187 

CHAPTER  XIV. 
Reilly  takes  Service  with  Squire  Folliard 214 

CHAPTER  XV. 
More  of  Whitecraft's  Plots  and  Pranks 227 

CHAPTER  XVI 
Sir  Robert  ingeniously  extricates  himself  out  of  a  Great  Difficulty    .  236 

CHAPTER  XVII 

Awful  Conduct  of  Squire  Folliard — Fergus  Reilly  begins  to  Contra- 
vene the  Red  Ra])paree 2  51 


CONTENTS.  ^^  5 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

thGV.- 

Something  not  very  Pleasant  for  all  Parties 264 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

Reilly's  Disguise  penetrated— He  Escapes— Fergus   Reilly  is  on  the 
Trail  of  the  Rapparce— Sir  Robert  begins  to  feel  Confident  of 


Success 


276 


CHAPTER  XX 


The  Rapparee  Secured— Reilly  and  the  Cooleen  Bawn  Escape,  and 
arR  Captured 201 

CHAPTER  XXI. 
Sir  Robert  Accepts  of  an  Invitation -503 

CHAPTER  XXII 
The  Squire  comforts  Whitecraft  in  his  Affliction       ....  323 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 

The  Squire  becomes  Theological  and  a  Proselytizer,  but   Signally 
F^'ls 334 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 
Preparations— Jury  of  the  Olden  Time — The  Scales  of  Justice        .  346 

CHAPTER  XXV. 

Rumor   of  Cooleen  Bawn's  Treachery — How  it  Appears  —  Reilly 
stands  his  Trial — Conclusion 364 


PREFACE  TO  THE   FIRST  EDITION. 


Most  of  our  Irish  readers  must  be  aware  that  (he  follow- 
ing story  IS  founded  upon  an  incident  in  the  history  of  the 
affections,  which,  ever  since  its  occurrence,  has  occupied  a 
large  portion  of  popular  interest.  From  the  very  first  dis- 
covery of  their  attachment,  the  loves  of  "Willy  Reilly  "'  and 
his  "  Fair  Cooleen  Bawn  "  became  celebrated,  and  were  made 
the  burden  of  many  a  rude  ballad  throughout  Ireland.  With 
the  exception,  however,  of  the  one  which  we  subjoin,  they 
have  all  nearly  disappeared  ;  but  that  production,  rude  as  it 
is,  has  stood  its  ground,  and  is  permanently  embodied  as  a 
favorite  in  the  ballad  poetry  of  the  people.  It  is  not.  though 
couched  in  humble  and  unpretending  language,  without  a 
good  deal  of  rustic  vigor,  and,  if  we  may  be  allowed  the  ex- 
pression, a  knid  of  inartistic  skill,  furnished  either  by  chance 
or  nature — it  is  difficult  to  determine  which.  We  are  of 
opinion,  however,  that  it  owes  a  great  portion  of  its  per- 
manent popularity  to  feelings  which  have  been  transmitted  to 
the  people,  arising  not  so  much  from  the  direct  interest  of  the 
incidents  embodied  in  it,  as  from  the  political  spirit  of  the 
times  m  which  they  occurred.  At  that  unhappy  period  the 
Penal  Laws  were  in  deadly  and  terrible  operation  ;  and  we 
need  not  be  surprised  that  a  young  and  handsome  Catholic 
should  earn  a  boundless  popularity,  especially  among  those 
of  his  own  creed,  by  the  daring  and  resolute  act  of  taking 
away  a  Protestant  heiress — the  daughter  of  a  persecutor — and 
whose  fame,  from  her  loveliness  and  accomplishments,  had 
already  become  proverbial  among  the  great  body  of  the  Irish 
people,  and,  indeed,  throughout  all  classes.  It  was  looked 
upon  as  a  kind  of  triumph  over  the  persecutors  ;  and,  in  this 
mstance,  Cupid  himself  seemed  to  espouse  the  cause  of  the 
beads  and  rosary,  and  to  become  a  tight  little  Catholic.  The 
character  of  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  (a  fictitious  name)  is 
drawn  from  traditions  which   were  some  tinie  ago  floating 


8  /HE FACE. 

among  the  people,  but  which  are  fast  fading  out  of  the  pop- 
ular mind.  The  mode  of  his  death,  and  its  concomitants,  the 
author  has  often  heard  told  in  his  youth,  around  the  hob,  dur- 
ing the  long  winter  evenings.  With  respect  to  the  description 
of  the  state  of  the  unhappy  Catholics,  however  I  may  have 
diminished,  I  have  not  exaggerated  it  ;  and  I  trust  that  I  have 
done  ample  justice  to  the  educated  Protestants  of  the  day, 
many  of  whom  not  only  opposed  the  Government  openly  and 
directly — whose  object  was  extermination  by  the  withering 
operation  of  oppressive  laws — but  threw  up  their  commissions 
as  '  istices  of  the  peace,  and  refused  to  become  the  tools  and 
abactors  of  religious  persecution.  To  such  noble-minded 
men  I  trust  I  have  rendered  ample  justice.  The  following  is 
the  celebrated  ballad  of  "Willy  Reilly,"  which  is  still  sung, 
and  will  long  coivtinue  to  be  sung,  at  many  a  hearth  in  Ireland  ; 

"  Oh !  rise  up  Willy  Reilly,  and  come  alongst  with  me, 
I  mean  for  to  go  with  you  and  leave  this  countrie, 
To  leave  my  father's  dwelling,  his  houses  and  free  lands—" 
And  away  goes  Willy  Reilly  and  his  dear  Cooleen  Bawn. 

They  go  by  hill  and  mountains,  and  by  yon  lonesome  plain. 
Through  shady  groves  and  valleys  all  dangers  to  refrain  ; 
But  her  father  followed  after  with  a  well-arm  d  chosen  band. 
And  taken  was  poor  Reilly  and  his  dear  Cooleen  Bawn. 

It's  home  then  she  was  taken,  and  in  her  closet  bound, 
Pcior  Reilly  all  in  Sligo  jail  lay  on  the  stony  ground, 
Till  at  the  bar  of  justice  before  the  Judge  he'd  stand. 
For  nothing  but  the  stealing  of  his  dear  Cooleen  Bawn. 

*  Now  in  the  cold,  cold  iron,  my  haiids  and  feet  are  bound, 
I'm  handcuffed  like  a  murderer,  and  tied  unto  the  ground; 
But  all  this  toil  and  slavery  I'm  willing  for  to  stand, 
Still  hoping  to  be  succored  by  my  dear  Cooleen  Ba7vn." 

The  jailer's  son  to  Reilly  goes,  and  thus  to  him  did  say, 
"  Oh  1  get  up,  Willy  Reilly,  you  must  appear  this  day, 

For  great  Squire  Folliard's  anger  you  never  can  withstand; 
I'm  afear'd  you'll  suffer  sorely  for  your  dear  Cooleen  Bawn. 


•*  This  is  the  news,  young  Reilly,  last  night  that  I  did  hear, 


Now  Wi!l}''s  drest  from  top  to  toe  all  in  a  suit  of  green. 
His  hair  hangs  o'er  his  shoulders  most  glorious  to  be  seen; 
He's  tall  and  straight  and  comely  as  any  could  be  found, 
He's  fit  for  Folliard's  daughter,  was  she  heiress  to  %  crown. 


PREFACE.  9 

The  Judge  he  said,  "  This  lady  being  in  her  tender  youth,  .^^^ 

If  Reiily  has  deluded  her,  she  will  declare  the  truth," 
Then,  like  a  moving  beauty  bright,  before  him  she  did  stand. 
•*  You're  welcome  there  my  heart's  delight  and  dear  CooUen  Bawtil* 

*'  Oh,  gentlemen,"  Squire  Folliard  said,  "  with  pity  look  on  me, 
This  villain  came  amongs'  us  to  disgrace  our  family, 
And  by  his  base  contrivances  this  villany  was  planned; 
If  I  don't  get  satisfaction  I  will  quit  this  Irish  land." 

The  lady  with  a  tear  began,  and  thus  replied  she, 
"  The  fault  is  none  of  Reilly's,  the  blame  lies  all  on  me : 

I  forced  hmi  for  to  leave  his  place  and  come  along  with  me; 
I  loved  him  out  of  measure,  which  has  wrought  our  destiny  " 

Then  out  bespoke  the  noble  Fox.  at  the  table  he  stood  by, 
"  Oh,  gentlemen,  consider  on  this  extremity, 

To  hang  a  man  for  love  is  a  murder  you  may  see. 

So  spare  the  life  of  Reilly.  let  hnn  leave  this  countrie  " 

**  Good,  my  lord,  he  stole  from  her  her  diamonds  and  her  rings. 
Gold  watcli  and  silver  buckles,  and  many  precious  things, 
Which  cost  me  in  bright  guineas,  more  than  five  hundred  pounds, 
I  will  have  the  life  of  Reilly  should  I  loose  ten  thousand  pounds. 

*'  Good,  mv  lord,  I  gave  them  him  as  tokens  of  true  love ; 
And  when  we  are  a-parting  I  will  them  all  remove  • 
If  you  have  got  them,  Reilly,  pray  send  them  home  to  me; 
They're  poor  compared  to'that  true  heart  which  I  ha.^e  given  to  thee. 

**  There  is  a  ring  among  them  I  allow  yourself  to  wear. 
With  thirty  locket  diamonds  well  set  in  silver  fair; 
And  as  a  true-love  token  wear  it  on  your  right  hand, 
That  you  may  think  on  my  broken  heart  when  you're  in  a  foreign  land." 

Then  out  spoke  noble  Fox,  "  You  may  let  the  prisoner  go. 

The  lady's  oath  has  cleared  him,  as  the  Jury  all  may  know : 

She  has  released  her  owv   Vue  love,  she  hat  renewed  his  name, 

May  her  honor  bright  gain  high  estate,  and  her  offspring  rise  to  fame." 

This  ballad  I  found  in  a  state  of  wretched  disorder.  It 
passed  from  one  individual  to  another  by  ear  alone  ;  and 
the  inconsecutive  position  of  the  verses,  occasioned  by  inac- 
curacy of  memory  and  ignorance,  has  sadly  detracted  from 
Its  genuine  force.  As  it  existed  in  the  oral  versions  of  the 
populace,  the  narrative  was  grossly  at  variance  with  the  reg- 
ular progress  of  circumstances  which  characterize  a  trial  of 
any  kind,  but  especially  such  a  trial  as  that  which  it  under- 
takes to  describe.  The  individuals  concerned  in  it,  for  in- 
stance, are  made  to  speak  out  of  place  ;  and  it  would  ap- 


lo 


PREFACE. 


pear,  from  all  the  versions  that  I  have  heard,  as  if  every 
stanza,  was  assigned  its  position  by  lot.  This  fact,  how- 
ever, I  have  just  accounted  for  and  remed'ed,  by  having 
restored  them  to  their  original  places,  so  that  the  vigorous 
but  rustic  bard  is  not  answerable  for  the  confusion  to  which 
unprinted  poetry,  sung  by  an  uneducated  people,  is  liable. 
As  the  ballad  now  stands,  the  character  of  the  poet  is  satis- 
factorily vindicated  ;  and  the  disorder  which  crept  in  during 
the  course  of  time,  though  strongly  calculated  to  weaken  its 
influence,  has  never  been  able  to  injure  its  fame.  This  is  a 
high  honor  to  its  composer,  and  proves  him  well  worthy  of 
the  popularity  which,  under  such  adverse  circumstances,  has 
taken  so  firm  a  hold  of  the  present  feeling,  and  survived  so 
long. 

The  author  trusts  that  he  has  avoided,  as  far  as  the  truth- 
ful treatment  of  his  subject  would  enable  him,  the  expres- 
sion of  any  political  sentiment  calculated  to  give  offence  to 
any  party — an  attempt  of  singular  difficulty  in  a  country  so 
miserably  divided  upon  religious  feeling  as  this.  The  expe- 
rience of  centuries  should  teach  statesmen  and  legislators 
that  persecution,  on  account  of  creed  and  conscience,  is  not 
only  bad  feeling,  but  worse  policy ;  and  if  the  author,  in 
these  pages,  has  succeeded  in  conveying  this  self-evident 
truth  to  his  readers,  he  will  rest  satisfied  with  that  result, 
however  severely  the  demerits  of  his  work  may  be  censured 
upon  purely  literary  grounds.  One  thing  may  be  said  in  his 
defence — that  it  was  utterly  impossible  to  dissociate  the  loves 
of  this  celebrated  couple  from  the  condition  of  the  country, 
and  the  operation  of  the  merciless  laws  which  prevailed 
against  the  Catholics  in  their  day.  Had  the  lovers  both 
been  Catholics,  or  both  been  Protestants,  this  might  have 
been  avoided  ;  but,  as  political  and  religious  matters  then 
stood,  to  omit  the  state  and  condition  of  society  which  re- 
sulted from  them,  and  so  deeply  affected  their  fate,  would  be 
somewhat  like  leaving  the  character  of  Hamlet  out  c5  the 
tragedy. 

As  the  work  was  first  written,  I  described  a  good  many  of 
the  Catholic  priests  of  the  day  as  disguised  in  female  appa- 
rel ,  but  on  discovermg  that  there  exists  an  ecclesiastical 
regulation  or  canon  forbidding  any  priest,  under  whatever 
persecution  or  pressure,  to  assume  such  apparel  for  the  pur- 
pose of  disguising  his  person  or  saving  his  life,  I,  ot  course 
changed  that  portion  of  the  matter  although  a  layman  might 
we)*    be  pardoned   for    his    ignoranee    ol   an   eccksiasticad 


PREFACE. 


W 


Statute,  which,  except  in  very  rare  cases,  can  be  known  onl^»— 
to  ecclesiastics  themselves.  I  retain  one  instance,  however, 
of  this  description,  which  I  ascribe  to  heimessy,  the  de- 
graded friar,  who  is  a  historical  character,  and  who  wrought 
a  vast  weight  of  evil,  as  an  informer,  against  the  Catholic 
priesthood  of  Ireland,  both  regular  and  secular. 

With  respect  to  the  family  name  of  the  heroine  and  her 
father,  I  have  adopted  both  the  popular  pronunciation  and 
orthography,  instead  of  the  real.  I  give  it  simply  as  I  found 
It  in  the  ballad,  and  as  I  always  heard  it  pronounced  by  the 
people  ,  in  the  first  place,  from  reluctance,  by  writing  it 
accurately,  to  give  offence  to  that  portion  of  this  highly 
respectable  family  which  still  exists  ;  and,  in  the  next,  from  a 
disinclination  to  disturb  the  original  impressions  made  on  the 
popular  mind  by  the  ballad  and  the  traditions  associated  with 
it.  So  far  as  the  traditions  go,  there  was  nothing  connected 
with  the  heroine  of  which  her  descendants  need  feel  ashamed. 
If  it  had  been  otherwise,  her  memory  never  would  have  been 
enshrined  in  the  affections  of  the  Irish  people  for  such  an  un- 
usual  period  of  time. 

Dublin,  February,  1855. 


PREFACE  TO  THE  SECOND  EDITION. 


I  AM  agreeably  called  upon  by  my  bookseller  to  prepare 
for  a  Second  Edition  of  "  Willy  Reilly."  This  is  at  all  times 
a  pleasing  call  upon  an  author  ;  and  it  is  so  especially  to  me, 
inasmuch  as  the  first  Edition  was  sold  at  the  fashionable,  but 
unreasonable,  price  of  a  guinea  and  a  half — a  price  which,  in 
this  age  of  cheap  literature,  is  almost  fatal  to  the  sale  of  any 
three-volume  novel,  no  matter  what  may  be  its  merits.  With 
respect  to  "  Willy  Reilly,"  it  may  be  necessary  to  say  that  I 
never  wrote  any  work  to  the  same  extent  in  so  short  a  time, 
or  with  so  much  haste.  Its  popularity,  however,  has  been 
equal  to  that  of  any  other  of  my  productions  ;  and  the  recep- 
tion which  it  has  experienced  from  the  ablest  public  and  pro- 
fessional critics  of  the  day  has  far  surpassed  my  expectations. 
I  accordingly  take  this  opportunity  of  thanking  them  most 
sincerely  for  the  favorable  verdict  which  they  have  generously 
passed  upon  it,  as  I  do  for  their  kindness  to  my  humble 
efforts  for  the  last  twenty-eight  years.  Nothing,  indeed,  can 
be  a  greater  encouragement  to  a  literary  man,  to  a  novel 
writer,  in  fact,  than  the  reflection  that  he  has  an  honest  and 
generous  tribunal  to  encounter.  If  he  be  a  quack  or  an  im- 
postor, they  will  at  once  detect  him  ;  but  if  he  exhibit  human 
nature  and  truthful  character  in  his  pages,  it  matters  not 
whether  he  goes  to  his  bookseller's  in  a  coach,  or  plods  there 
humbly,  and  on  foot ;  they  will  forget  everything  but  the  value 
and  merit  of  what  he  places  before  them.  On  this  account  it 
is  that  I  reverence  and  respect  them  ;  and  indeed  I  ought  to 
do  so,  for  I  owe  them  the  gratitude  of  a  pretty  long  literary 
life. 

Concerning  this  Edition,  I  must  say  something.  I  have 
already  stated  that  it  was  written  rapidly  and  in  a  hurry.  On 
reading  it  over  for  correction,  I  was  struck  in  my  cooler 
moments  by  many  defects  in  it,  which  were  kindly  over- 
looked, or,  perhaps,  not  noticed  at  all  To  myself,  however, 
who  had  been  brooding  over  this  work  for  a  long  time,  they 
at  once  became  obvious.  I  have  accordingly  added  an  under- 
plot of  affection  between  Fergus  KeiUy — nientioned  as  a  di»- 


PREFACE  13 

tant  relative  of  my  hero— and  the  Cooleeu  Bawti's  maid,  Ellen 
Connor.  In  doing  so,  I  have  not  disturbed  a  single  incidi  iii 
in  the  work  ;  and  the  reader  who  may  have  perused  the  fir^it 
Edition,  if  he  should  ever — as  is  not  unfrequently  the  case — 
peruse  this  second  one,  will  certainly  wonder  how  the  additions 
were  made.  That,  however,  is  the  secret  of  the  author,  with 
which  they  have  nothing  to  do  but  to  enjoy  the  book,  if  they 
can  enjoy  it. 

With  respect  to  the  O'Reilly  name  and  family,  I  have 
consulted  my  distinguished  friend — and  1  am  proud  to  call 
him  so — John  O'Donovan,  Esq.,  L.L.D.,  M.R.I. A.,  who  with 
the  greatest  kindness,  placed  the  summary  of  the  history  of 
that  celebrated  family  at  my  disposal.  This  learned  gentle- 
man is  an  authority  beyond  all  question.  With  re:-pect  to 
Ireland — her  language — her  old  laws — her  history — her  anti- 
quities— her  archaeology — her  topography,  and  the  genealogy 
of  her  families,  he  is  a  perfect  miracle,  as  is  his  distinguished 
fellow-laborer  in  the  same  field,  Eugene  Curry.  Two  such 
men — and,  including  Dr.  Petrie,  three  such  men — Ireland 
never  has  produced,  and  never  can  again — for  this  simple 
reason,  that  they  will  have  left  nothing  after  them  for  their 
successors  to  accomplish.  To  Eugene  Curry  I  am  indebted 
for  the  principal  fact  upon  which  my  novel  of  the  "  Tithe 
Proctor  "  was  written — the  able  introduction  to  which  was 
printed  verbatim  from  a  manuscript  with  which  he  kindly  fur- 
nished me.  The  following  is  Dr.  O'Donovan's  clear  and 
succinct  history  of  the  O'Reilly  family  from  the  year  435  until 
the  present  time : 

"  The  ancestors  of  the  family  of  O'Reilly  had  been  celebrated  in  Irish 
history  long  before  the  establishment  of  surnames  in  Ireland.  In  the  year 
435  their  ancestor,  Uuach  Galach,  king  of  Connaught,  was  baptized  by  St. 
Patrick  on  the  banks  of  Loch  Scola,  and  they  had  remained  Christians  of 
the'  old  Irish  Church,  which  appears  to  have  been  peculiar  in  its  mode  of 
tonsure,  and  of  keeping  Easter  (and,  since  the  twelfth  century,  firm 
adherents  to  the  religion  of  the  Pope,  till  Dowell  O'Reilly,  Esq.,  the  father 
of  the  present  head  of  the  name,  quarrelling  with  Father  Dowling,  of  Strad- 
bally,  turned  Protestant,  about  the  year  1800. 

"The  ancestor,  after  whom  they  took  the  family  name,  was  Reillagh, 
who  was  chief  of  his  sept,  and  flourished  about  the  yeai  981. 

"  From  this  period  they  are  traced  in  the  Irish  Annals  through  a  long 
line  of  powerful  chieftains  of  East  lircifny  (County  Cavan),  whosuccceded 
each  other,  according  to  the  law  of  Tanistry,  till  the  year  15S5,  when  two 
rival  chieftains  of  the  name,  Sir  John  O'Reilly  and  Edmund  O'Reilly,  ap- 
peared in  Dublin,  at  the  parliament  summoned  by  Perrot.  Previously  to 
this,  John  O'Reilly,  finding  his  party  weak,  had  repaired  to  England,  in 
^583,  to  solicit  Queen  Elizabeth's  interest,  and  had  been  kindly  received  at 
Court,  and  invested  with  the  order  of  Knighthood,  and  promised  to  b« 


u 


PREFACE. 


made  Ean,  whereupon  he  returned  home  with  letters  from  the  Queen  to 
the  Lord  Deputy  and  Council  of  Ireland,  instructing  them  to  support  him 
in  his  claims  His  uncle,  Edmund,  of  Kilnacrott,  would  have  succeeded 
Hugh  Connallagh  O'Reilly,  the  father  of  Sir  John,  according  to  the  Irish 
law  of  Tanistry,  but  he  was  set  aside  by  Elizabeth's  government,  and  Sir 
John  set  up  as  O'Reilly  m  his  place.  Sir  John  being  settled  in  the  chief- 
tainship of  East  Breifny,  entered  into  certain  articles  of  agreement  wMth 
Sir  John  Perrot.the  Lord  Deputy,  and  the  Council  of  Ireland,  whereby  he 
agreed  to  surrender  the  principality  of  East  Breifny  to  the  Queen,  on  con- 
dition of  obtaining  it  again  from  the  crown  in  capite  by  English  tenure,  and 
the  same  to  be  ratified  to  him  and  the  heirs  male  of  his  body.  In  conse- 
quence of  this  agreement,  and  with  the  intent  of  abolishing  the  tanistic 
succession,  he,  on  the  last  day  of  August,  1590,  perfected  a  deed  of  feof- 
ment,  entailing  thereby  the  seignory  of  Briefny  (O'Reilly)  on  his  eldest 
son,  Malmore  (Myles),  surnamed  yi/a/««  (the  comely),  afterwards  known 
as  THE  Queen's  O' Reilly. 

"  Notwithstanding  these  transactions.  Sir  John  O'Reilly  soon  after 
joined  in  the  rebellion  of  Hugh,  Earl  of  Tyrone,  and  died  on  the  first  of 
June,  1 596  After  his  death  the  Earl  of  Tyrone  set  up  his  second  brother, 
Philip,  as  the  O'Reilly,  and  the  government  of  Elizabeth  supported  the 
claim  of  Sir  John's  son,  Malmore,  the  comely,  in  opposition  to  Philip, 
and  Edmund  of  Kilnacrott.  But  Malmore,  the  Queen's  O'Reilly,  was 
slain  by  Tyrone  in  the  great  battle  of  the  Yellow  Ford,  near  Benburb,  on 
the  14th  of  August,  1 598,  and  the  Irish  of  Ulster  agreed  to  establish 
Edmund  of  Kilnacrott  as  the  O'Reilly. 

"  The  lineal  descendants  of  Sir  John  passed  into  the  French  service, 
and  are  now  totally  unknown,  and  probably  extinct.  The  descendants  of 
Edmund  of  Kilnacrott  have  been  far  more  prolific  and  more  fortunate. 
His  senior  representative  is  my  worthy  old  friend  Myles  John  O'Reilly, 
Esq.,  Heath  House,  Emo  Queen's  Co.,  and  from  him  are  also  descended 
the  O'Reilly  of  Thomastown  Castle,  in  the  County  of  Louth,  the  Counts 
O'Reilly  of  Spain,  the  O'Reillys  of  Beltrasna,  in  Westmeath,  and  the 
Reillys  of  Scarva  House,  in  the  County  of  Down. 

"  Edmund  of  Kilnacrott  had  a  son  John  who  had  a  son  Brian,  by 
Mary,  daughter  of  the  Baron  of  Dunsany,  w'ho  had  a  famous  son  Malmore, 
commonly  called  Myles  the  Slasher.  This  Myles  was  an  able  military 
leader  during  the  civil  wars  of  1641,  and  showed  prodigies  of  valor  during 
the  years  1641,  1642,  and  1643;  ^^^  ''^  1644,  being  encamped  at  Gianard, 
in  the  County  of  Longford,  with  Lord  Castlehaven,  who  ordered  him  to 
proceed  with  a  chosen  detachment  of  horse  to  defend  the  bridge  of  Finea 
against  the  Scots,  then  bearing  down  on  the  main  army  with  a  very 
superior  force,  Myles  was  slain  at  the  head  of  his  troops,  fighting  bravely 
on  the  middle  of  the  bridge.  Tradition  adds,  that  during  this  action  he 
encountered  the  colonel  of  the  Scots  in  single  combat,  who  laid  open  his 
cheek  with  a  blow  of  his  sword ;  but  Myles,  whose  jaws  were  stronger 
than  a  smith's  vice,  held  fast  the  Scotchman's  sword  between  his  teeth 
till  he  cut  him  down,  but  the  main  body  of  the  Scots  pressing  upon  him, 
he  was  left  dead  on  the  bridge. 

"  This  Myles  the  Slasher  was  the  father  of  Colonel  John  O'Reilly,  of 
Ballymacadd,  in  the  County  Meath,  who  was  elected  Knight  of  the  Shire 
for  the  County  of  Cavan,  in  the  parliament  held  at  Dublin  on  the  7th  of 
May,  16S9.  He  raised  a  regiment  of  dragoons,  at  his  own  expense,  for 
the  service  of  James  II.,  and  assisted  at  the  siege  of  Londonderry  in  1689. 
He  had  two  engagements  with  Colonel  Wolsley,  the  commander  of  the 
garrison  of  Belturbet,  whom  he  signally  defeated.     He  foughr  4,1  the 


PREFACE.  15 

..^^^ 

battles  of  the  Boyne  and  Aughrim,  and  was  included  in  the  articles  of 
capitulation  of  Limerick,  whereby  he  preserved  his  property,  and  was 
allowed  to  carry  arms. 

"  Of  the  eldest  son  of  this  Colonel  John  O'Reilly.,  who  left  issue,  my 
friend  Myles  J.  O'Reilly,  Esq  ,  is  now  the  senior  representative. 

"  From  Colonel  John  O'Reilly's  ymtm^est  son,  Thomas  O'Reilly,  of 
Beltrasna,  was  descended  Count  Alexander  O'Reillv,  of  Spain,  who 
TOOK  Alciieks!  immortalized  by  Byron  This  Ale.xander  was  born  near 
Oldcastle,  in  the  County  Meath,  in  the  year  1722.  He  was  Generalissimo 
of  his  Catholic  Majesty's  forces,  and  Inspector-General  of  the  Infantry, 
etc.,  etc.  In  the  year  1786  he  employed  the  Chevalier  Thomas  O'Gorman 
to  compile  for  him  a  history  of  the  House  of  O'Reillv,  for  which  he  paid 
O'Gorman  the  sum  of  £,i,\y7  ioj.,  the  original  receipt  for  which  I  have  in 
my  possession. 

'*  From  this  branch  of  the  O'Reilly  family  was  also  descended  the 
illustrious  Andrew  Count  O'R'eiily  who  died  at  Vienna  in  1832,  at  the  age 
of  92  He  was  General  of  Cavalry  in  the  Austrian  service.  This  distin- 
guished man  filled  in  succession  ail  the  military  grades  in  the  Austrian 
service,  with  the  exception  of  that  of  Field  Marshal,  and  was  called  by 
Napoleon  '  le  nspcctable  General  O' Kally.^ 

"  The  eldest  son  of  Myles  J.  O'Reilly,  Esq.,  is  a  young  gentleman  of 
great  promise  and  considerable  fortune.  His  rencontre  with  Lord 
Clements  (now  Earl  of  Leitrim)  has  been  not  long  since  prominently 
before  the  public,  and  in  a  manner  which  does  justice  to  our  old  party 
quarrels  !  Both  are,  however,  worthy  of  their  high  descent ;  and  it  is  to 
be  hoped  that  they  will  soon  become  good  friends,  as  they  are  both  young, 
and  remarkable  for  benevolence  and  love  of  fatherland." 

As  this  has  been  considered  by  some  persons  as  a  histori- 
cal novel,  although  I  really  never  intended  it  as  such,  it  may 
be  necessary  to  give  the  reader  a  more  distinct  notion  of  the 
period  in  which  the  incidents  recorded  in  it  took  place.  The 
period  then  was  al;out  that  of  1745,  when  Lord  Chesterfield 
was  Governor-General  of  Ireland.  This  nobleman,  though  an 
infidel,  was  a  bigot,  and  a  decided  anti-Catholic  ;  nor  do  I 
think  that  the  temporary  relaxation  of  the  penal  laws  against 
Catholics  was  anything  else  than  an  apprehension  on  the 
part  of  England  that  the  claims  of  the  Pretender  might  be 
supported  by  the  Irish  Catholics,  who  then,  so  depressed  and 
persecuted,  must  have  naturally  felt  a  strong  interest  in  having 
a  prince  who  professed  their  own  religion  placed  upon  the 
English  throne.  Strange  as  it  may  appear,  however,  and  be 
the  cause  of  what  it  may,  the  Catnolics  of  Ireland,  as  a  peop\e 
and  as  a  bod}',  took  no  part  whatever  in  supporting  him. 
Under  Lord  Chesterfield's  administration,  one  of  the  most 
snocking  and  unnatural  Acts  of  Parliament  ever  conceived 
passed  into  a  law.  This  was  the  making  void  and  null  all 
intermarriages  between  Catholic  and  Protestant  that  shouUl 
take  place  after  the  ist  of  May,  1746.  Such  an  Act  was  a 
renewal  of  ihe  Statute  of  Kilkenny,  and  it  was  a  fortunate 


1 6  PREFACE. 

circumstance  to  Willy  Reilly  and  his  dear  Cooleen  Bawn  that 
he  had  the  consolation  of  having  been  transported  for  seven 
years.  Had  her  father  even  given  his  consent  at  an  earlier 
period,  the  laws  of  the  land  would  have  rendered  their  mar- 
riage impossible.  This  cruel  law,  however,  was  overlooked  ; 
for  it  need  hardly  be  said  that  it  was  met  and  spurned  not 
only  by  human  reason,  but  by  human  passion.  In  truth,  the 
strong  and  influential  of  both  religions  treated  it  with  con- 
tempt, and  trampled  on  it  without  any  dread  of  the  conse- 
quences. By  the  time  of  his  return  from  transportation, 
it  was  merely  a  dead  letter,  disregarded  and  scorned  by  both 
parties,  and  was  no  obstruction  to  either  the  marriage  or  the 
happiness  of  hiniself  and  his  dear  Cooleen  Bawti. 

I  know  not  that  there  is  anything  else  I  can  add  to  this 
preface,  unless  the  fact  that  I  have  heard  several  other  ballads 
upon  the  subject  of  these  celebrated  lovers — all  of  the  same 
tendency,  and  all  in  the  highest  praise  of  the  beauty  and 
virtues  of  the  fair  Cooleen  Bawn.  Their  utter  \ailgarity,  how- 
ever, precludes  them  from  a  place  in  these  pages.  And,  by 
the  wry,  talking  of  the  law  which  passed  under  the  adminis- 
tration of  Lord  Chesterfield  against  intermarriages,  it  is  not 
improbable  that  the  elopement  of  Reilly  and  the  Cooleen 
Bawn;  in  addition  to  the  execution  of  the  man  to  whom  I 
have  given  the  name  of  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  may  have  in- 
troduced it  in  a  spirit  of  reaction,  not  only  against  the  conse- 
quences of  the  elopement,  but  against  the  baronet's  ignomin- 
ious death.  Thus,  in  every  point  from  which  w-e  can  view  it, 
the  fate  of  this  celebrated  couple  involved  not  only  popular 
feeling,  but  national  importance. 

I  have  not  been  able  to  trace  with  any  accuracy  or  satis 
faction  that  portion  or  branch  of  the  O'Reilly  family  to 
which  my  hero  belonged.  The  dreary  lapse  of  time,  and  his 
removal  from  the  country,  have  been  the  means  of  sweeping 
into  oblivion  everything  concerning  him,  with  the  exception 
of  his  love  for  Miss  Folliard,  and  its  strange  consequences. 
Even  tradition  is  silent  upon  that  part  of  the  subject,  and  I  fear 
that  any  attempt  to  throw  light  upon  it  must  end  only  in  dis- 
appointment. I  have  reason  to  believe  that  the  Counsellor 
Fox,  who  acted  as  his  advocate,  was  never  himself  raised  to 
the  bench  ;  but  that  honor  was  reserved  for  his  son,  who 
was  an  active  judge  a  little  before  the  close  of  the  last 
century. 

W.  CARLETON. 
Dublin,  December,  1856. 


WILLY    REILLY. 


CHAPTER   I. 

AN    ADVENTURE   AND   AN    ESCAPE. 

Spirit  of  George  Prince  Regent  James,  Esq.,  forgive  me 
this  commencement !  * 

It  was  one  evening  at  the  close  of  a  September  month  and 
a  September  day  that  two  equestrians  might  be  observed 
passing  along  one  of  those  old  and  lonely  Irish  roads  that 
seemed,  from  the  nature  of  its  construction,  to  have  been 
paved  by  a  society  of  antiquarians,  if  a  person  could  judge 
from  its  obsolete  character,  and  the  difficulty,  without  risk 
of  neck  and  limb,  of  riding  a  horse  or  driving  a  carriage 
along  it.  Ireland,  as  our  English  readers  ought  to  know,  has 
ahvavs  been  a  country  teeming  with  abundance — a  happy 
land,  in  which  want,  destitution,  sickness,  and  famine  have 
never  been  felt  or  known,  ex'cept  through  the  mendacious 
misrepresentations  of  her  enemies.  The  road  we  speak  of 
was  a  proof  of  this  ;  for  it  was  evident  to  every  observer  that, 
in  some  seasons  of  superabundant  food,  the  people,  not  know- 
ing exactly  how  to  dispose  of  their  shilling  loaves,  took  to 
paving  the  common  roads  with  them,  rather  than  they  should 
be  utterly  useless.  These  loaves,  in  the  course  of  time, 
underwent  the  process  of  petrifaction,  but  could  not,  never- 
theless, be  looked  upon  as  wholly  lost  to  the  country.  A  great 
number  of  the  Irish,  within  six  of  the  last  preceding  years — 
that  is,  from '46  to  '52 — took  a  peculiar  fancy  for  them  as 
food,  which,  we  presume,  caused  their  enemies  to  say  that  we 
then  had  hard  times  in  Ireland.  Be  this  as  it  may,  it  en- 
abled the  sagacious  epicures  who  lived  upon  them  to    relire» 

•  I  mean  no  offence  whatsoever  to  tlii«  distinguished  and  multituciinoiis  writer  ;  bt* 
U>»  commencement  nf  this  novel  reai.y  resembled  tUat  of  bo  many  of  h:j  jVl  1  *■• 
tatdovf-  to  avoid  iha  charts  tf  "uitating  'tinL 


^8  WILLY  REILLY. 

in  due  course,  to  the  delightful  retreats  of  Skull  and  Skib- 
bereen,*  and  similar  asylums,  there  to  pass  the  very  i.hort 
remainder  of  their  lives  in  health,  ease,  and  luxury. 

The  evening,  as  we  have  said,  was  about  the  close  of 
September,  when  the  two  equestrians  we  speak  of  were  pro- 
ceeding at  a  pace  necessarily  slow.  One  of  them  was  a  bluff, 
fresh-complexioned  man,  of  about  sixty  summers  ;  but  al- 
though of  a  healthy  look,  and  a  frame  that  had  evidently 
once  been  vigorous,  yet  he  was  a  good  deal  stooped,  had 
about  him  all  the  importance  of  plethora,  and  his  hair,  which 
fell  down  his  shoulders,  was  white  as  snow.  The  other,  who 
rode  pretty  close  to  him,  was  much  about  his  own  age,  or 
perhaps  a  few  years  older,  if  one  could  judge  by  a  face  that 
gave  more  undeniable  evidences  of  those  furrows  and  wrinkles 
which  Time  usually  leaves  behind  him.  This  person  did  not 
ride  exactly  side  by  side  with  the  first-mentioned,  but  a  little 
aback,  though  not  so  far  as  to  prevent  the  possibility  of  con- 
versation. At  this  time  it  may  be  mentioned  here  that  every 
man  that  could  afford  it  wore  a  wig,  with  the  exception  of 
some  of  those  eccentric  individuals  that  are  to  be  found  in 
every  state  and  period  of  society,  and  who  are  remarkable  for 
that  peculiar  love  of  singularity  which  generally  constitutes 
their  character  —  a  small  and  harmeless  ambition,  easily 
gratified,  and  involving  no  injury  to  their  fellow  creatures. 
The  second  horseman,  therefore,  wore  a  wig,  but  the  other, 
although  he  eschewed  that  ornament,  if  it  can  be  called  so, 
was  by  no  means  a  man  of  that  mild  and  harmless  character 
which  we  have  attributed  to  the  eccentric  and  and  unfashion- 
able class  of  whom  we  have  just  spoken.  So  far  from  that, 
he  was  a  man  of  an  obstinate  and  violent  temper,  of  strong 
and  unreflecting  prejudices  both  for  good  and  evil,  hot,  per- 
severing, and  vindictive,  though  personally  brave,  intrepid, 
and  often  generous.  Like  many  of  his  class,  he  never 
troubled  his  head  about  religion  as  a  matter  that  must,  and 
ought  to  have  been,  personally,  of  the  chiefest  interest  to 
himself,  but,  at  the  same  time,  he  was  looked  upon  as  one  of 
the  best  and  staunchest  Protestants  of  the  day.  His  loyalty 
and  devotedness  to  the  throne  of  England  were  not  only  un- 
questionable, but  proverbial  throughout  the  country  ;  but,  at 
the  same  time,  he  regarded  no  clergyman,  either  of  his  own 

*  Two  poor-houses  in  the  most  desolate  parts  of  the  County  of  York,  where  famine, 
fever,  dysentery,  and  cholera,  rendered  more  destructive  by  the  crowded  state  of  the 
houses  and  the  consequent  want  of  ventilation,  swept  away  the  wretched  inmates  to  the 
amount,  if  we  recollect  rightly,  of  sometimes  from  fifty  to  seventy  per  diem  ia  the  yean 
'•»S  *'i'i  '47- 


WILLY  REILLY.  IQ 

or  any  other  creed,  as  a  man  whose  intiinacy  was  worth  pre- 
serving, unless  he  was  able  to  take  off  his  three  or  four  bottles 
of  claret  after  dinner.  In  fact,  not  to  keep  our  readers  longer 
in  suspense,  the  relation  which  he  and  his  companion  bore 
to  each  other  was  that  of  master  and  servant. 

The  hour  was  now  a  little  past  twilight,  and  the  western 
sky  presented  an  unusual,  if  not  an  ominous,  appearance. 
A  sharp  and  melancholy  breeze  was  abroad,  and  the  sun, 
which  had  set  among  a  mass  of  red  clouds  half  placid,  and 
half  angry  in  appearance,  had  for  some  brief  space  gone  down. 
Over  from  the  north,  however,  glided  by  imperceptible  de- 
grees a  long  black  bar,  right  across  the  place  of  disappear- 
ance, and  nothing  could  be  more  striking  than  the  wild  and 
unnatural  contrast  between  the  dying  crimson  of  the  west  and 
this  fearful  mass  of  impenetrable  darkness  that  came  over  it. 
As  yet  there  was  no  moon,  and  the  portion  of  light  or  rather 
"  darkness  visible  "  that  feebly  appeared  on  the  sky  and  the 
landscape,  was  singularly  sombre  and  impressive,  if  not  actu- 
ally appalling.  The  scene  about  them  was  wild  and  desolate 
in  the  extreme ;  and  as  the  faint  outlines  of  the  black  and 
barren  moors  appeared  in  the  dim  and  melancholy  distance, 
the  feelings  they  inspired  were  those  of  discomfort  and  de- 
pression. On  each  side  of  them  were  a  variety  of  lonely 
lakes,  abrupt  precipices,  and  extensive  marshes ;  and  as  our 
travellers  went  along,  the  hum  of  the  snipe,  the  feeble  but 
mournful  cry  of  the  plover,  and  the  wilder  and  more  piercing 
whistle  of  the  curlew,  still  deepened  the  melancholy  dreari- 
ness of  their  situation,  and  added  to  their  anxiety  to  press  on 
towards  the  place  of  their  destination. 

"  This  is  a  very  lonely  spot,  your  honor,"  said  his  servant, 
whose  name  was  Andrew,  or,  as  he  was  more  familiarly  called, 
Andy  Cummiskey. 

"Yes,  but  it's  the  safer,  Andy,"  replied  his  master. 
''There  is  not  a  human  habitation  within  miles  of  us." 

"  It  doesn't  follow,  sir,  that  this  place,  above  all  others  in 
the  neighborhood,  is  not,  especially  at  this  hour,  without  some 
person  about  it.     You  know  /'w  no  coward,  sir." 

"  What,  you  scoundrel  !  and  do  you  mean  to  hint  that  /';« 
one  ? 

"  Not  at  all,  sir  ;  but  you  see  the  truth  is,  that,  this  being 
the  very  hour  for  duck  and  wild-fowl  shootin',  it's  hard  to  say 
where  or  when  a  fellow  might  start  up,  and  mistake  me  for 
a  wild  duck,  and  your  honor  for  a  curlew  or  a  bittern." 

He  had  no  sooner  spoken  than  the  breeze  started,  as  >t 


to  WILL  V  REILL  Y. 

were,  into  more  vigorous  life,  and  ere  the  space  ot  many 
minutes  a  dark  impenetrable  mist  or  fog  was  borne  over  from 
the  solitary  hills  across  the  dreary  level  of  country  through 
which  they  passed,  and  they  felt  themselves  suddenly  chilled, 
whilst  a  darkness,  almost  palpable,  nearly  concealed  them 
from  each  other.  Now  the  roads  which  we  have  described, 
being  almost  without  exception  in  remote  and  unfrequented 
parts  of  the  country,  are  for  the  most  part  covered  over  with 
a  thick  sole  of  close  grass,  unless  where  a  narrow  strip  in  the 
centre  shows  that  a  pathway  is  kept  worn,  and  distinctly 
marked  by  the  tread  of  foot-passengers.  Under  all  these 
circumstances,  then,  our  readers  need  not  feel  surprised  that, 
owing  at  once  to  the  impenetrable  obscurity  around  them, 
and  the  noisless  nature  of  the  antique  and  grass-covered 
pavement  over  which  they  went,  scarcely  a  distance  of  two 
hundred  yards  had  been  gained  when  they  found,  to  their 
dismay,  that  they  had  lost  their  path,  and  were  in  one  of  the 
wild  and  heathy  stretches  of  unbounded  moor  by  which  they 
were  surrounded. 

"We  have  lost  our  way,  Andy,"  observed  his  master. 
"  We've  got  off  that  damned  old  path  ;  what's  to  be  done  .-' 
where  are  you.-*  " 

"  I'm  here,  sir,"  replied  his  man  ;  "  but  as  for  what's  to 

-be   done,  it   would  take  Mave  Mullen,  that    sees  the   fairies 

and  tells  fortunes,  to  tell  us  that.     For   heaven's    sake,  stay 

where  you  are,  sir,  till  I  get  up  to  you,  for  if   we   part    from 

one  another,  we're  both  lost.     Where  are  you,  sir  1  " 

"  Curse  you,  sirra,"  replied  his  master  angrily,  "  is  this 
either  a  time  or  place  to  jest  in  ?  A  man  that  would  make 
a  jest  in  such  a  situation  as  this  would  dance  on  his  father's 
tombstone." 

"  By  my  soul,  sir,  and  I'd  give  a  five-pound  note,  if  I  had 
it,  that  you  and  I  were  dancing  'Jig  Polthogue  '  on  it  this 
minute.  But,  in  the  mane  time,  the  devil  a  one  o'  me  sees 
the  joke  your  honor  speaks  of." 

"  Why,  then,  do  you  ask  me  where  I  am,  when  you  know 
I'm  astra}^,  that  we're  both  astray,  you  snivelling  old  whelp? 
By  the  great  and  good  King  William,  I'll  be  lost,  Andy !  " 

"Well,  and  even  if  you  are,  sir,"  replied  Andy,  who, 
guided  by  his  voice,  had  now  approached  and  joined  him  ; 
"  even  if  you  are,  sir,  I  trust  you'll  bear  it  like  a  Christian 
and  a  Trojan." 

"  Get  out,  you  old  sniveller — what  do  you  mean  by  a  Tro- 
jan ? " 


WILL  V  REILL  Y.  2 1 

"A  Trojan,  sir,  I  was  tould,  is  a  man  that  lives  by  sellin' 
wild-fowl.  They  take  an  oath,  sir,  before  they  begin  the 
trade,  never  to  die  until  they  can't  help  it." 

"  You  mean  to  say,  or  to  hint  at  least,  that  in  addition  to 
our  other  dangers  we  run  the  risk  of  coming  in  contact  with 
poachers  .''  " 

"  Well,  then,  sir,  if  I  don't  mistake  they're  out  to-night. 
However,  don't  let  us  alarm  one  another.  God  forbid  that 
I'd  say  a  single  word  to  frighten  you;  but  still,  you  knew 
yourself  that  there's  many  a  man  not  a  hundred  miles  from 
us  that  'ud  be  glad  to  mistake  you  for  a  target,  a  mallard,  or 
any  other  wild-fowl  of  that  description." 

"  In  the  mean  time  we  are  both  well  armed,"  replied  his 
master ;  "  but  what  I  fear  most  is  the  risk  we  run  of  falling 
down  precipices,  or  walking  into  lakes  or  quagmires.  What's 
to  be  done  ?  Tliis  fog  is  so  cursedly  cold  that  it  has  chilled 
my  very  blood  into  ice." 

"Our  best  plan,  sir,  is  to  dismount,  and  keep  ourselves 
warm  by  taking  a  pleasant  stroll  across  the  country.  The 
horses  will  take  care  of  themselves.  In  the  mean  time  keep 
up  your  spirits — we'll  both  want  something  to  console  us  ; 
but  this  I  can  tell  you,  that  devil  a  bit  of  tombstone  ever  will 
go  over  either  of  us,  barrin'  the  sky  in  heaven  ;  and  for  our 
coffins,  let  us  pray  to  the  coffin-maker,  bekaise,  you  see,  it's 
the  inaddhu  rua/i  *  (the  foxes),  and  ravens,  and  other  civilized 
animals  that  will  coffin  us  both  by  instalments  in  their  hungry 
guts,  until  our  bones  will  be  beautiful  to  look  at — afther 
about  six  months'  bleaching — and  a  sharp  eye  'twould  be  that 
'ud  know  the  difference  between  masther  and  man  then,  I 
think." 

We  omitted  to  say  that  a  piercing  and  most  severe  hoar 
frost  had  set  in  with  the  fog,  and  that  Cummiskey's  master 
felt  the  immediate  necessity  of  dismounting,  and  walking 
about,  in  order  to  preserve  some  degree  of  animal  heat  in  his 
bod  v. 

''  I  cannot  bear  this,  Andy,"  said  he,  "  and  these  two  gal- 
lant animals  will  never  recover  it  after  the  severe  day's  hunt- 
ing they've  had.  Poor  Fiddler  and  Piper,"  he  exclaimed, 
"this  has  pfoved  a  melancholy  day  to  you  both.  What  is  to 
be  done,  Andy  ?  I  am  scarcely  able  to  stand,  and  feel  as  if 
my  strength  had  utterly  left  me." 

"  What,  sir,"  replied  his  servant,  who  was  certainly  deeply 
attached  to  his  master,  "  is  it  so  bad   with  you  as   all  that 

*  Maddim  rma/k,  or  red  dag,  the  Irish  nam*  (or  th«  fox. 


22 


WILL  Y  REILL  Y. 


comes  to  ?  Sure  I  only  thought  to  amuse  you,  sir.  Come, 
take  courage  j  I'll  whistle,  and  maybe  somebody  will  come  to 
our  relief." 

He  accordingly  put  his  two  fingers  into  his  mouth,  and 
uttered  a  loud  and  piercing  whistle,  after  which  both  stood 
still  for  a  time,  but  no  reply  was  given. 

"  Stop,  sir,"  proceeded  Andrew  ;  "  I'll  give  them  another 
touch  that'll  make  them  spake,  if  there's  any  one  near  enough 
to  hear  us." 

He  once  more  repeated  the  whistle,  but  with  two  or  three 
peculiar  shakes  or  variations,  when  almost  instantly  one  of  a 
similar  character  was  given  in  reply. 

"Thank  God,"  he  exclaimed,  "be  they  friends  or  foes, 
we  have  human  creatures  not  far  from  us.  Take  courage, 
sir.     How  do  you  feel  ■'  " 

"  Frozen  and  chillf^d  almost  to  death,"  replied  his  master; 
"I'll  give  fifty  pounds  to  any  man  or  party  of  men  that  will 
conduct  us  safely  home." 

"  I  hope  in  the  Almighty,"  said  Andrew  to  himself  in  an 
anxious  and  appr-^hensive  tone  of  voice,  "  that  it's  not  Par- 
rah  Ruah  (Red  Patrick),  the  red  Rapparee,  that's  in  it,  and 
I'm  afeered  it  i?,  for  I  think  I  know  his  whistle.  There's  not 
a  man  in  the  three  baronies  could  give  such  a  whistle  as  that, 
barring  himself.  If  it  is,  the  masther's  a  gone  man,  and  I'll 
not  be  left  behind  to  tell  his  story.     God  protect  us !  " 

"What  are  you  saying,  Andy?"  asked  his  master.  "  What 
were  you  muttering  just  now  }  " 

"  Nothing,  sir,  nothing  ;  but  there  can  be  no  harm,  at  all 
events,  to  look  to  our  pistols.  If  there  should  be  danger,  let 
us  sell  Qur  lives  like  men." 

"  And  so  we  will,  Andy.  The  country  I  know  is  in  a  dis- 
turbed and  lawless  state,  and  ever  since  that  unfortunate 
affair  of  the  priest,  I  know  I  am  not  popular  with  a  great 
many.     I  hope  we  won't  come  across  his  Rapparee  nephew." 

"Whether  we  do  or  not,  sir,  let  us  look  to  our  firearms. 
Show  me  yours  till  I  settle  the  powdher  in  them.  Why,  God 
bless  me,  how  you  are  tremblin'." 

"  It  is  not  from  fear,  sir,"  replied  the  intrepid  old  man, 
"  but  from  cold.  If  anything  should  happen  me,  Andy,  let 
my  daughter  know  that  my  will  is  in  the  oaken  cabinet  ;  that 
is  to  say,  the  last  I  made.  She  is  my  heiress — but  that  she 
is  by  the  laws  of  the  land.  However,  as  I  had  disposed  of 
some  personal  property  to  other  persons,  which  disposition  I 
have  revoked  in  the  will  I  speak  of — my  last,  as  I  said — I 


WILLY  KEILLY.  23 

wish  you  to  let  her  know  where  she  may  find  it.  Her  moth- 
er's jewels  are  also  in  the  same  place — but  they,  too,  are  her's 
by  right  of  law — her  mother  bequeathed  them  to  her." 

"Ah!  sir,  you  are  right  to  remember  and  think  well  of 
that  daughter.  She  has  been  a  guardian  angel  to  you  these 
five  years.  But  why,  sir,  do  you  give  me  this  message?  Do 
you  think  I  won't  sell  my  life  in  defence  of  yours?  If  you 
do  you're  mistaken." 

"  i  believe  it,  Andrew  ;  I  believe  it,  Andy,"  said  he  again, 
familiarizing  the  word;  "but  if  this  red  Rapparee  should 
murder  me,  I  don't  wish  you  to  sacrifice  your  life  on  my  ac- 
count. Make  your  escape  if  he  should  be  the  person  who  is 
approaching  us,  and  convey  to  my  daughter  the  message  I 
have  given  you." 

At  this  moment  aiwther  whistle  proceeded  from  a  quarter 
of  the  moor  much  nearer  them,  and  Andy,  having  handed 
back  the  pistols  to  his  master,  asked  him  should  he  return  it. 

"Certainly,"  replied  the  other,  who  during  all  this  time 
was  pacing  to  and  fro,  in  order  to  keep  himself  from  sinking ; 
"  certainly,  let  us  see  whether  these  persons  are  friends  or 
enemies." 

His  servant  then  replied  to  the  whistle,  and  in  a  few  min- 
utes it  was  answered  again,  whilst  at  the  same  time  a  strong 
but  bitter  wind  arose  which  cleared  away  the  mist,  and 
showed  them  with  considerable  distinctness  the  position 
which  they  occupied. 

Within  about  ten  yards  of  them,  to  the  left,  the  very  di- 
rection in  which  they  had  been  proceeding,  was  a  small  deep 
lake  or  tarn,  utterly  shoreless,  and  into  which  they  unques- 
tionably would  have  walked  and  perished,  as  neither  of  them 
knew  how  to  swim.  The  clearing  away  of  the  mist,  and  the 
light  of  the  stars  (for  the  moon  had  not  yet  risen),  enabled 
the  parties  to  see  each  other,  and  in  a  few  minutes  Andrew 
and  his  master  were  joined  by  four  men.  the  principal  person 
among  them  being  the  identical  individual  .vhom  they  both 
had  dreaded — the  Red  Rapparee. 

"Master,"  said  Cummiskey,  in  a  whisper,  on  seeing  them 
approach,  "  we  must  fight  for  it,  I'm  af<'cred,  but  let  us  not 
be  rash  ;  there  may  be  a  friend  or  two  among  them,  and  it  is 
better  to  come  off  peaceably  if  we  can." 

"I  agree  with  you,"  replied  his  master.  "There  is  no 
use  in  shedding  unnecessary  blofxl  ;  but,  in  any  event,  let  us 
not  permit  them  to  disarm  us,  should  tht-y  insist  on  doing  so. 
They  know  I  never  go  three  yards  from  my  hall-door  v.'ithout 


24 


WILL  y  REILL  Y. 


arms,  and  it  is  not  improbable  they  may  make  a  point  of  tak- 
ing them  from  us.  I,  however,  for  one,  will  not  trust  to  fheir 
promises,  for  I  know  their  treachery,  as  I  do  their  cowardice, 
when  their  numbers  are  but  few,  and  an  armed  opponent  or 
two  before  them,  determined  to  give  battle.  Stand,  there- 
fore, by  me,  Andy,  and,  by  King  William,  should  they  have 
recourse  to  violence,  we  shall  let  them  see,  and  feel  too,  that 
we  are  not  unprepared." 

"  I  have  but  one  life,  sir,"  replied  his  faithful  follower  \ 
"it  was  spent — at  least  its  best  diys  were — in  your  service, 
and  sooner  than  any  danger  should  come  to  you,  it  will  be 
lost  in  your  defence.  If  it  was  only  for  the  sake  of  her,  that 
is  not  here,  the  Cooleen  Bawn,  I  would  do  it." 

"  Who  goes  there  .-'  "  asked  a  deep  and  powerful  voice 
when  the  parties  had  come  within  about  twenty  yards  of  each 
other. 

"  By  the  powers  !  "  exclaimed  Andrew  in  a  whisper,  "  it's 
himself — the  Red  Rapparee  !  " 

"  We  are  friends,"   he  replied,    "  and  have  lost  our  way." 

The  other  party  approached,  and,  on  joining  our  travel- 
lers, the  Rapparee  started,  exclaiming,  "  What,  noble  squire, 
is  it  possible  that  this  is  you .''  Hut !  it  can't  be — let  me  look 
at  you  closer,  till  I  make  sure  of  you." 

"  Keep  your  distance,  sir,"  replied  the  old  man  with  cour- 
age and  dignity ;  "  keep  your  distance  ;  you  see  that  I  and 
my  servant  are  both  well  armed,  and  determined  to  defend 
ourselves  against  violence." 

An  ominous  and  ferocious  glance  passed  from  the  Rap- 
paree to  his  comrades,  who,  however,  said  nothing,  but 
seemed  to  be  resolved  to  guide  themselves  altogether  by  his 
conduct.  The  Red  Rapparee  was  a  huge  man  of  about  forty, 
and  the  epithet  of  "  Red  "  had  been  given  to  him  in  conse- 
quence of  the  color  of  his  hair.  In  expression  his  counte- 
nance was  by  no  means  unhandsome,  being  florid  and  sym- 
metrical, but  hard,  and  with  scarcely  any  trace  of  feeling. 
His  brows  were  far  asunder,  arguing  ingenuity  and  invention, 
but  his  eyes,  which  were  small  and  treacherous,  glared — 
whenever  he  became  excited — with  the  ferocity  of  an  enraged 
tiger.  His  shoulders  were  broad,  his  chest  deep  and  square, 
his  arms  long  and  powerful,  but  his  lower  limbs  were  some- 
what light  in  proportion  to  the  great  size  of  his  upper  figure. 
This,  however,  is  generally  the  case  when  a  man  combines  in 
his  own  person  the  united  qualities  of  activity  and  strength. 
Even   at  the  period  we   are  describing,  when  this   once  cele- 


WILLY  REILLY.  25 

brated  character  was  forty  years  of  age,  it  was  well  known  ttftt 
in  fleetness  of  foot  there  was  no  man  in  the  province  able 
to  compete  with  him.  In  athletic  exercises  that  required 
strength  and  skill  he  never  had  a  rival,  but  one — with  .vhom 
the  reader  will  soon  be  made  acquainted.  He  was  wrapped 
loosely  in  a  gray  frieze  big-coat,  or  cothamore,  as  it  is  called 
in  Irish — wore  a  hat  of  two  colors,  and  so  pliant  in  texture 
that  he  could  at  any  time  turn  it  inside  out.  His  coat  was — 
as  indeed  were  all  his  clothes — made  upon  the  same  prin- 
ciple, so  that  when  hard  pressed  by  the  authorities  he  could 
in  a  minute  or  two  transmute  himself  into  the  appearance  of 
a  man  very  different  from  the  individual  described  to  them. 
Indeed  he  was  such  a  perfect  Proteus  that  no  vigilance  of  the 
Executive  was  ever  a  match  for  his  versatility  of  appearance, 
swiftness  of  foot,  and  caution.  These  frequent  defeats  of  the 
authorities  at  that  day  made  him  extremely  popular  with  the 
people,  who  were  always  ready  to  afford  him  shelter  and 
means  of  concealment,  in  return  for  which  he  assisted  them 
with  food,  money,  and  the  spoils  of  his  predatory  life.  This, 
indeed,  was  the  sagacious  principle  of  the  Irish  Robbers  and 
Rapparees  from  the  beginning — to  ivb  from  the  rich  and  give 
to  the  poor  being  their  motto. 

The  persons  who  accompanied  him  on  this  occasion  were 
three  of  his  own  gang,  who  usually  constituted  his  body- 
guard, and  acted  as  videttes,  either  for  his  protection  or  for 
the  purpose  of  bringing  him  information  of  such  travellers  as 
from  their  known  wealth  or  external  appearance  might  be 
supposed  worth  attacking.  They  were  well-made,  active, 
and  athletic  men,  in  whom  it  would  not  be  easy  to  recognize 
any  particular  character  at  variance  with  that  of  the  peas- 
antry around  them.  It  is  unnecessary  to  say  that  they  were 
all  armed.  Having  satisfied  himself  as  to  the  identity  of 
master  and  man,  with  a  glance  at  his  companions,  the  Rap- 
paree  said, 

"  What  on  earth  brought  you  and  Andy  Cummiskey  here, 
noble  squire?  Oh!  you  lost  your  way,  Andy  says.  Well 
now,"  he  proceeded,  "you  know  I  have  been  many  a  day 
and  night  on  the  lookout  for  you  ;  ay,  and  could  have  put 
daylight  through  you  many  and  many  a  tune  ;  and  what  do 
you  think  prevented  me?  " 

"  Fear  of  God,  or  of  the  gallows,  I  hope,"  replied  the  in- 
trepid old  man. 

"  Well,"  returned  the  Rapparee,  with  a  smile  of  scorn, 
"  I'm  not  a  man — as  I  suppose  you  may  know — that,  ev^r 


26  WILL  Y  REILL  Y. 

feared  either  of  them  much — God  forgive  me  for  the  one,  I 
don't  ask  his  forgiveness  for  the  other.  No,  Squire  Folliard, 
it  was  the  goodness,  the  kindness,  the  generosity,  and  the 
charity  of  the  Coolccn  Bawn,  your  lovely  daughter,  that  held 
my  hand.  You  persecuted  my  old  uncle,  the  priest,  and  you 
would  a'  hanged  him  too,  for  merely  marryin'  a  Protestant 
and  a  Catholic  together.  Well,  sir,  your  fair  daughter,  and 
her  good  mother — that's  now  in  heaven,  I  hope — went  up  to 
Dublin  to  the  Lord  Lieutenant,  and  before  him  the  Cooleen 
Bawn  went  on  her  two  knees  and  begged  my  uncle's  life, 
and  got  it  ;  for  the  Lord  Lieutenant  said  that  no  one  could 
deny  her  anything.  Now,  sir,  for  her  sake,  go  home  in 
peace.     Boys,  get  their  horses." 

Andy  Cummiskey  would  have  looked  upon  all  this  as 
manly  and  generous,  but  he  could  not  help  observing  a  par- 
ticular and  rather  sinister  meaning  in  the  look  which  the 
Rapparee  turned  on  his  companions  as  he  spoke.  He  had 
often  heard,  too,  of  his  treacherous  disposition  and  his  un- 
relenting crueUy  whenever  he  entertained  a  feeling  of  ven- 
geance. In  his  present  position,  however,  all  he  could  do  was 
to  stand  on  his  guard  ;  and  with  this  impression  strong  upon 
him  he  resolved  to  put  no  confidence  in  the  words  of  the 
Rapparee.  In  a  few  minutes  the  horses  were  brought  up, 
and  Randy  (Randal)  Ruah  having  wiped  Mr.  Folliard's 
saddle — for  such  was  his  name — with  the  skirt  of  his  cotha?nore, 
and  removed  the  hoar  frost  or  rime  which  had  gathered  on  it, 
he  brought  the  animal  over  to  him,  and  said,  with  a  kind  of 
rude  courtesy, 

"  Come,  sir,  trust  me  :  I  will  help  you  to  your  saddle." 

"  You  have  not  the  reputation  of  being  trustworthy,"  re- 
plied Mr.  Folliard  ;  ''  keep  back,  sir,  at  your  peril  ;  I  will  not 
trust  you.     My  own  servant  will  assist  me." 

This  seemed  precisely  the  arrangement  which  the  Rap- 
paree and  his  men  had  contemplated.  The  Squire,  in  mount- 
ing, was  obliged,  as  every  man  is,  to  use  both  his  hands,  as 
was  his  servant  also,  while  assisting  him.  They  consequently 
put  up  their  pistols  until  they  should  get  into  the  saddles,  and, 
almost  in  an  instant,  found  themselves  disarmed,  and  pris- 
oners in  the  hands  of  these  lawless  and  unscrupulous  men. 

'Now,  Squire  Folliard,"  exclaimed  the  Rapparee,  "see 
what  It  is  not  to  trust  an  honest  man  ;  had  you  done  so,  not 
a  hair  of  your  head  would  be  injured.  As  it  is  I'll  give  you 
five  mmutes  to  do  three  things  ;  remember  my  uncle,  the 
priest,  that  yoa  transported." 


WILL  Y  REILL  Y. 


27 


"  He  acted  most  illegally,  sir,"  replied  the  old  man  in- 
dignantly ;  "and,  in  my  opinion,  I  say  that,  in  consequence 
of  his  conduct,  the  country  had  a  good  riddance  of  him.  I 
only  wish  I  could  send  you  after  him  ;  perhaps  I  shall  do  so 
yet.  I  believe  in  Providence,  sirra,  and  that  God  can  protect 
me  from  your  violence  even  here." 

"  In  the  next  place,"  proceeded  the  Rapparee,  "  think  of 
your  daughter,  that  you  will  never  see  again,  either  in  this 
world  or  the  next." 

''  I  know  I  am  unworthy  of  having  such  an  angel,"  re- 
plied the  old  man,  "  but  unless  you  were  a  cruel  and  a  heart- 
less, ruffian,  you  would  not  at  this  moment  mention  her,  or 
bring  the  thoughts  of  her  to  my  recollection." 

"  In  the  last  place,"  continued  the  other,  "  if  you  have 
anything  to  say  in  the  shape  of  a  prayer,  say  it,  for  in  five 
minutes'  time  there  will  be  a  bullet  through  your  heart,  and 
in  '[\vQ  more  you  will  be  snug  and  warm  at  the  bottom  of  the 
loch  there  below — that's  your  doom." 

"  O'Donnel,"  said  Andy,  "  think  that  there's  a  God  above 
you.  Surely  you  wouldn't  murdher  this  ould  man  and  make 
the  sowl  within  your  body  redder — if  the  thing's  possible — 
than  the  head  that's  on  the  top  of  it,  though  in  throth  I  don't 
think  it's  by  way  of  ornament  it's  there  either.  Come,  come, 
Randal,  my  man,  this  is  all  fcasthala^h  (nonsense).  You 
only  want  to  frighten  the  gentleman.  As  for  your  uncle,  man 
alive,  all  I  can  say  is  that  he  was  a  friend  to  your  family,  and 
to  religion  too,  that  sent  him  on  his  travels." 

"  Take  ofT  your  gallowses  "  (braces),  said  the  Rapparee  ; 
"  take  them  off,  a  couple  of  you — for,  by  all  the  powers  of 
darkness,  they'll  both  go  to  the  bottom  of  the  loch  together, 
back  to  back.     Down  you'll  go,  Andy." 

"  By  my  soul,  then,"  replied  the  unflinching  servant,  "  if 
we  go  down  you'll  go  up ;  and  we  have  those  belongin'  to  us 
that  will  see  you  kiss  the  hangman  yet.  Yerra,  now,  above 
all  words  in  the  alphabet  what  could  put  a  gallows  into  your 
mouth?  Faith,  Randal,  it's  about  your  neck  it'll  go,  and 
you'll  put  out  your  tongue  at  the  daicent  people  that  will 
attend  your  own   funeral  yet — that  is,  if  you  don't  let  us  ofif." 

"  Put  them  both  to  their  knees,"  said  the  Rapparee  in  a 
voice  of  thunder,  "  to  their  knees  with  them.  I'll  take  the 
masther,  and  Kineely,  do  you  take  the  man." 

The  companions  of  the  Rapparee  could  not  avoid  laughing 
at  the  comic  courage  displayed  by  Cummiskey,  and  were 
about  to  intercede  for  him,  when  O'Donnel,  which  was  hit 


28  IVILL  Y  REILL  Y. 

name,  stamped  with  fury  on  the  ground  and  asked  then,  if 
they  dared  to  disobey  him.  This  sobered  them  at  once,  and 
in  less  than  a  minute  Mr.  FolHard  and  Andy  were  placed 
upon  their  knees,  to  await  the  terrific  sentence  which  was 
about  to  be  executed  on  them,  in  that  wild  and  lonely  moor, 
and  under  such  appalling  circumstances.  When  placed  in 
the  desired  posture,  to  ask  that  mercy  from  God  which  they 
were  not  about  to  experience  at  the  hands  of  man.  Squire 
Folliard  spoke  : 

"  Red  Rapparee,"  said  he,  "  it  is  not  that  I  am  afraid  of 
death  as  such^  but  I  feel  that  I  am  not  prepared  to  die.  Suf- 
fer my  servant  and  myself  to  go  home  without  harm,  and  I 
shall  engage  not  only  to  get  you  a  pardon  from  the  Govern- 
ment of  the  country,  but  I  shall  furnish  you  with  money 
either  to  take  you  to  some  useful  calling,  or  to  emigrate  to 
some  foreign  country,  where  nobody  will  know  of  your  mis- 
deeds, or  the  life  you  have  led  here." 

"Randal,  my  man,"  added  Andy,  "listen  to  what  the  gen- 
tleman says,  and  you  may  escape  what  you  know  yet.  As 
for  my  masther,  Randall,  let  him  pass,  and  take  me  in  his 
place.  I  may  as  well  die  now,  maybe,  as  another  time.  I 
was  an  honest,  faithful  servant,  at  all  times.  I  have  neither 
chick  nor  child  to  cry  for  me.  No  wife,  thank  God,  to  break 
my  heart  afther.  My  conscience  is  light  and  airy,  like  a  beg- 
garman's  blanket,  as  they  say  ;  and  barrin'  that  I  once  got 
drunk  wid  your  uncle  in  Moll  Flanagan's  sheebeen  house,  I 
I  don't  know  that  I  have  much  to  trouble  me.  Spare  him, 
then,  and  take  me,  if  ic  must  come  to  that.  He  has  the 
Coolecn  Baivn  to  think  for.  Do  you  think  of  her,  too  ;  and 
remember  that  it  was  she  who  saved  your  uncle  from  the 
gallows." 

This  unlucky  allusion  only  deepened  the  vengeance  of  the 
Red  Rapparee,  who  looked  to  the  priming  of  his  gun,  and 
was  in  the  act  of  preparing  to  perpetrate  this  most  inhuman 
and  awful  murder,  when  an  interruption  took  place  for  which 
neither  party  was  prepared. 

Now,  it  so  happened  that  within  about  eight  or  ten  yards  of 
where  they  stood  there  existed  the  walls  and  a  portion  of  the 
arched  roof  of  one  of  those  old  ecclesiastical  ruins,  which  our 
antiquarians  denominate  Cyc/opean,  like  Incus  a  noji  luccndo, 
because  scarcely  a  dozen  men  could  kneel  in  them.  Over 
this  sad  ruin  was  what  sportsmen  term  "a  pass"  for  duck 
and  widgeon,  and,  aided  by  the  shelter  of  the  building,  any 
persons  who  stationed  themselves  there  could  certainly  com- 


IV/LL  V  REILL  Y.  29 

mit  great  havoc  among  the  wildfowl  in   question.     The  Rrtf" 
Rapparee  then  had  his  gun   in  his  hand,  and  was  in  the  very 
act  of  adjusting  it  to   his  shoulder,  when   a   powerful   young 
man  sprung  forward,  and  dashing  it  aside,  exclaimed  : 

"  What  is  this,  Randal  ?  Is  it  a  double  murder  you  are 
about  to  execute,  you  inhuman  ruffian  ?  " 

The  Rapparee  glared  at  him,  but  with  a  quailing  and 
subdued,  yet  sullen  and  vindictive  expression. 

"  Stand  up,  sir,"  proceeded  this  daring  and  animated 
young  man,  addressing  Mr.  Folliard  ;  "  and  you,  Cummis- 
key,  get  to  you  legs.  No  person  shall  dare  to  injure  either 
of  you  while  I  am  here.  O'Donnell — stain  and  disgrace  to  a 
noble  name — begone,  you  and  your  ruffians.  I  know  the 
cause  of  your  enmity  against  this  gentleman  ;  and  I  tell  you 
now,  that  if  you  were  as  ready  to  sustain  your  religion  as  you 
are  to  disgrace  it  by  your  conduct,  you  would  not  become 
a  curse  to  it  and  the  country,  nor  give  promise  of  feeding 
a  hungry  gallows  some  day,  as  you  and  your  accomplices  will 
do." 

Whilst  the  young  stranger  addressed  these  miscreants 
with  such  energy  and  determination,  Mr.  Folliard,  who,  as 
well  as  his  servant,  had  now  got  to  his  legs,  asked  the  latter 
in  a  whisper  who  he  was. 

"  By  all  that's  happy,  sir,"  he  replied,  "  it's  himself,  the 
only  man  living  that  the  Red  Rapparee  is  afraid  of  j  it's 
'  Willy  Reilly.'  " 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE   COOLEEN    BAWN. 


The  old  man  became  very  little  wiser  by  the  information 
of  his  servant,  and  said  in  reply,  "  I  hope,  Andy,  he's  not  a 
Papist ;  "  but  checking  the  unworthy  prejudice — and  in  him 
such  prejudices  were  singularly  strong  in  words,  although 
often  feeble  in  fact — he  added,  "it  matters  not — we  owe  our 
lives  to  him — the  deepest  and  most  important  obligation  that 
one  man  can  owe  to  another.  I  am,  however,  scarcely  able 
to  stand  ,  I  feel  benumbed  and  exhausted,  and  wish  to  get 
home  as  soon  as  possible."' 


30 


WILLY  REILLY. 


"  Mr.  Reilly,"  said  Andy,  "  this  gentleman  is  very  weak 
and  ill  ;  and  as  you  have  acted  so  much  like  a  brave  man 
and  a  gentleman,  maybe  you'd  have  no  objection  to  see  us 
safe  home." 

"  It  is  my  intention  to  do  so,"  replied  Reilly.  "  I  could 
not  for  a  moment  think  of  leaving  either  him  or  you  to  the 
mercy  of  this  treacherous  man,  who  dishonors  a  noble  name. 
Randal,''  he  proceeded,  addressing  the  Rapparee,  '*  mark  my 
words! — if  but  a  single  hair  of  this  gentleman's  head,  or  of 
any  one  belonging  to  him,  is  ever  injured  by  you  or  your 
gang,  I  swear  that  you  and  they  will  swing,  each  of  you,  from 
as  many  gibbets,  as  soon  as  the  course  of  the  law  can  reach 
you.  You  know  me,  sir,  and  my  influence  over  those  who 
protect  you.  As  for  you,  Fergus,"  he  added,  addressing  one 
of  the  Rapparee's  followers,  "you  are,  thank  God!  the  only 
one  of  my  blood  who  has  ever  disgraced  it  by  leading  such 
a  lawless  and  guilty  life.  Be  advised  by  me — leave  that  man 
of  treachery,  rapine  and,  murder — abandon  him  and  reform 
your  life — and  if  you  are  disposed  to  become  a  good  and  an 
industrious  member  of  society,  go  to  some  other  country, 
where  the  disgrace  you  have  incurred  in  this  may  not  follow 
you.  Be  advised  by  me,  and  3'ou  shall  not  want  the  means 
of  emigrating.  Now  begone ;  and  think,  each  of  you,  of  what 
I  have  said." 

The  Rapparee  glanced  at  the  noble-looking  young  fellow 
with  the  vindictive  ferocity  of  an  enraged  bull,  who  feels  a 
disposition  to  injure  you,  but  is  restrained  by  terror;  or, 
which  is  quite  as  appropriate,  a  cowardly  but  vindictive  mas- 
tiff, who  eyes  you  askance,  growls,  shows  his  teeth,  but  has 
not  the  courage  to  attack  you. 

"Do  not  look  at  me  so,  sir,"  said  Reilly;  "you  know  I 
fear  you  not." 

"  But  in  the  mean  time,"  replied  the  Rapparee,  "  what's 
to  prevent  me  from  putting  a  bullet  into  you  this  moment,  if 
I  wish  to  do  it  ?  " 

"  There  are  ten  thousand  reasons  against  it,"  returned 
Reilly.  "  If  you  did  so,  in  less  than  twenty-four  hours  you 
would  find  yourself  in  Sligo  jail — or,  to  come  nearer  the 
truth,  in  less  than  five  minutes  you  would  find  yourself  in 
hell." 

"Well,  now,  suppose  I  should  make  the  trial,"  said  the 
Rapparee.  "  You  don't  know,  Mr.  Reilly,  how  you  have 
crossed  me  to-night.  Suppose  now  I  should  try — and  sup- 
pose, too,  that  not  one  of  you  three  should  leave  the  spot  you 


WILLY  REILLY. 


3» 


stand  on  only  as  corpses — wouldn't  I  have  the  advantage  of 
you  then  ?  " 

Reilly  turned  towards  the  ruined  chapel,  and  simply  rais- 
ing his  right  hand,  about  eight  or  ten  persons  made  their 
appearance  ;  but,  restrained  by  a  signal  from  him,  they  did 
not  advance. 

"That  will  do,"  said  he.  "Now,  Randall,  I  hope  you 
understand  your  position.  Do  not  provoke  me  again  ;  for 
if  you  do  I  will  surround  you  with  toils  from  which  you  could 
as  soon  change  your  fierce  and  brutal  nature  as  escape. 
Yes,  and  I  will  take  you  in  the  midst  of  your  ruffian  guards, 
and  in  the  deepest  of  your  fastnesses,  if  ever  you  provoke  me 
as  you  have  done  on  other  occasions,  or  if  you  ever  injure 
this  gentleman  or  any  individual  of  his  family.  Come,  sir," 
he  proceeded,  addressing  the  old  man,  "you  are  now  mounted 
— my  horse  is  in  this  old  ruin — and  in  a  moment  I  shall  be 
ready  to  accompany  you." 

Reilly  and  his  companions  joined  our  traveellers,  one  of 
the  former  having  offered  the  old  squire  a  large  frieze  great- 
coat, which  he  gladly  accepted,  and  having  thus  formed  a 
guard  of  safety  for  him  and  his  faithful  attendant,  they  re- 
gained the  old  road  we  have  described,  and  resumed  their 
journey. 

When  they  had  gone,  the  Rapparee  and  his  companions 
looked  after  them  with  blank  faces  for  some  minutes. 

"  Well,"  said  their  leader,  "  Reilly  has  knocked  up  our 
game  for  this  night.  Only  for  him  I'd  have  had  a  full  and 
sweet  revenge.  However,  never  mind  :  it'll  go  hard  with  me, 
or  I'll  have  it  yet.  In  the  mane  time  it  won't  be  often  that 
such  another  will  come  in  our  way." 

"Well,  now  that  it  is  over,  what  was  your  intention, 
Randal .-'  "  asked  the  person  to  whom  Reilly  had  addressed 
himself. 

"  Why,"  replied  the  miscreant,  "  after  the  deed  was  done, 
what  was  to  prevent  us  from  robbing  the  house  to-night,  and 
taking  away  his  daughter  to  the  mountains.  I  have  long  had 
my  eye  on  her,  I  can  tell  you,  and  it'll  cost  me  a  fall,  or  I'll 
have  her  yet." 

"  You  had  better,"  replied  Fergus  Reilly,  for  such  was 
his  name,  "neither  make  nor  meddle  with  that  family  afther 
this  night.  If  you  do,  that  terrible  relation  of  mine  will  hang 
you  like  a  dog." 

"  How  will  he  hang  me  like  a  dog  ?  "  asked  the  Rapparee, 
knitting  his  shaggy  eyebrows  and  turning  upon  him  a  tierce 
and  gloomy  look. 


2 2  WILLY  R EI LLY. 

"Wh}',  now,  Randal,  you  know  as  well  as  I  do,"  replied 
the  other,  "that  if  he  only  raised  his  finger  against  you  in 
the  country,  the  very  people  that  harbor  both  you  and  us 
would  betray  us,  aye,  seize  us,  and  bind  us  hand  and  foot, 
like  common  thieves,  and  give  us  over  to  the  authorities. 
But  as  for  himself,  I  believe  you  have  sense  enough  to  let 
him  alone.  When  you  took  away  Mary  Traynor,  and  nearly 
kilt  her  brother  the  young  priest — you  know  they  were 
Reilly's  tenants — I  needn't  tell  you  what  happened  :  in  four 
hours'  time  he  had  the  country  up,  followed  you  and  your 
party — I  wasn't  with  you  then,  but  you  know  its  truth  I'm 
spakin' — and  when  he  had  five  to  one  against  you,  didn't  he 
make  them  stand  aside  until  he  and  you  should  decide  it 
between  you  ?  Aye,  and  you  know  he  could  a'  brought  home 
every  man  of  you  tied  neck  and  heels,  and  would,  too,  only 
that  there  was  a  large  reward  offered  for  the  takin'  of  you 
livin'  or  dead,  and  he  scorned  to  have  any  hand  in  it  on  that 
account." 

"It  was  by  a  chance  blow  he  hit  me,"  said  the  Rapparee 
— "by  a  chance  blow." 

"  By  a  couple  dozen  chance  blows,"  replied  the  other ; 
"  You  know  he  knocked  you  down  as  fast  as  ever  you  got  up 
— I  lave  it  to  the  boys  here  that  wor  present." 

"  There's  no  use  ii  denyin'  it,  Randal,"  they  replied  ; 
"you  hadn't  a  chance  wid  him." 

"Well,  at  all  events,"  observed  the  Rapparee,  "if  he  did 
beat  me,  he's  the  only  man  in  the  country  able  to  do  it ;  but 
its  not  over,  curse  him — I'll  have  another  trial  with  him  yet." 
"  If  you  take  my  advice,"  replied  Reilly,  "  you'll  neither 
make  no'r  meddle  with  him.  He's  the  head  o'  the  Catholics 
in  this  part  of  the  country,  and  you  know  that ;  aye,  and  he's 
their  friend,  and  uses  the  friendship  that  the  Protestants  have 
towards  him  for  their  advantage,  wherever  he  can.  The  man 
that  would  injure  Willy  Reilly  is  an  enemy  to  our  religion,  as 
well  as  to  everything'  that's  good  and  generous  ;  and  mark 
me,  Randal,  if  ever  you  cross  him  in  what  he  warned  you 
against  this  very  night,  I'll  hang  you  myself,  if  there  wasn't 
another  livin'  man  to  do  it,  and  to  the  back  o  that  again  ] 
say  you  must  shed  no  blood  so  long  as  I'm  with  you." 

"  That  won't  be  long,  then,"  replied  the  Rapparee,  pull- 
ing out  a  purse  ;  there's  twenty  guineas  for  you,  and  go  about 
your  business  ;  but  take  care,  no  treachery." 

"No,"  replied  the  other,  "  I'll  have  none  of  your  money, 
there's  blood  in  it.     God  forgive  me  for   ever  joinin'  vou, 


WILLY  RtriLY. 


^r^ 


When  1  want  money  I  can  get  it ;  as  for  treachery,  there's 
none  of  it  in  my  veins  ;  good-night,  and  remember  my 
words." 

Having  thus  spoken,  he  took  his  way  along  the  same 
road  by  which  the  old  squire  and  his  party  went. 

"That  fellow  will  betray  us,"  said  the  Rapparee. 

"  No,"  replied  his  companions  firmly,  "  there  never  was 
treachery  in  his  part  of  the  family  ;  he  is  not  come  from  any 
of  ike's  Qiiee/is  O'Reillys.*  We  wish  you  were  as  sure  of 
every  man  you  have  as  you  may  be  of  him." 

"Well,  now,"  observed  their  leader,  "a  thought  strikes 
me  ;  this  ould  squire  will  be  half  dead  all  night.  At  any 
rate  he'll  sleep  like  a  top.  Wouldn't  it  be  a  good  opportunity 
to  attack  the  house — aise  him  of  his  money,  for  he's  as  rich 
as  a  Jew — and  take  away  the  Coolceji  Bawtil  We'll  call  at 
Shane  Bearna'sf  stables  on  our  way  and  bring  the  other 
boys  along  wid  us.     What  do  vou  say  .''  " 

"  Why,  that  you'll  hang  yourself  and  every  man  of  us." 

"Nonsense,  you  cowardly  dogs,"  replied  their  leader 
indignantly;  "can't  we  lave  the  country?" 

"Well,  if  you're  bent  on  it,"  replied  his  followers,  "we 
won't  be  your  hindrance." 

"  We  can  break  up,  and  be  off  to  America,"  he  added. 

"  But  what  will  you  do  with  the  Cooleen  Bawn,  if  you  take 
her  ? "  they  asked. 

"Why,  lave  her  behind  us,  after  showin'  the  purty  creat- 
ure the  inside  of  Shane  Bearna's  stables.  She'll  be  able  to 
find  her  way  back  to  her  father's,  never  fear.  Come,  boys, 
now  or  never.  To  say  the  truth,  the  sooner  we  get  out  of 
the  country,  at  all  events,  the  better." 

The  Rapparee  and  his  men  had  moved  up  to  the  door  of 
the  old  chapel  already  alluded  to,  whilst  this  conversation 
went  on  ;  and  now  that  their  dreadful  project  had  been  de- 
termined on,  they  t(^k  a  short  cut  across  the  moors,  in  order 
to  procure  additional  assistance  for  its  accomplishment. 

*  Catholic  families  who  were  faithful  and  loyal  to  Queen  Elizabeth  diirint:  her  wars  in 
Ireland  were  stismalized  by  the  nickname  of  the  Queen's  friends,  to  distinguish  them 
from  others  of  the  same  name  who  had  opposed  her,  on  behalf  of  their  religion,  m  the 
wars  which  desolated  Ireland  durinp  her  reicn  ;  ajiortion  of  the  family  of  which  we  write 
were  on  this  account  designated  as  the  (Pr/ft-x'i  O'Reillys.  i  •       c         j 

t  Shane  Rearna  was  a  celebrated  Rnoparee,  who,  among  his  other  exploits,  fip:ured 
principally  as  a  horse-stealer.  He  kept  the  stolen  animals  concealed  in  remote  mountain 
caves,  where  he  trimmed  and  dyed  them  in  such  a  way  as  made  it  impossible  to  recocniie. 
them.  These  caves  are  curiosities  at  the  present  day,  and  are  n.iw  k  own  as  5A««- 
Bearna's  Stables.  He  was  a  chief  in  the  formidable  c;ane  ot  thr  releb-ated  Redmond 
O'Hanlon.  It  is  said  of  him  that  he  was  called  Hearna  because  he  never  had  any  teeth  : 
but  tradition  tells  us  that  he  could,  notwithstanding,  biie  a  piece  out  of  a  thin  plate  ot 
80JU  with  as  much  ease  as  if  it  were  gingerbread. 


34 


WILLY  REILLY. 


No  sooner  had  they  gone,  however,  than  an  individual, 
who  had  been  concealed  in  the  darkness  within,  came 
stealthily  to  the  door,  and  peeping  cautiously  out,  at  length 
advanced  a  few  steps  and  looked  timidly  about  him.  Per- 
ceiving that  the  coast  was  clear,  he  placed  himself  under  the 
shadow  of  the  old  walls — for  there  was  now  sufficient  light 
to  cast  a  shadow  from  any  prominent  object;  and  from 
thence  having  observed  the  direction  which  the  Rapparee 
and  his  men  took,  without  any  risk  of  being  seen  himself, 
he  appeared  satisfied.  The  name  of  this  individual — who, 
although  shrewd  and  cunning  in  many  things,  was  neverthe- 
less deficient  in  reason — or  rather  the  name  by  which  he 
generally  went,  was  Tom  Steeple,  a  soubriquet  given  to  him  on 
account  of  a  predominant  idea  which  characterized  and  in- 
fluenced his  whole  conversation.  The  great  delight  of  this 
poor  creature  was  to  be  considered  the  tallest  individual  in 
the  kingdom,  and  indeed  nothing  could  be  more  amusing 
than  to  witness  the  manner  in  which  he  held  up  his  head 
while  he  walked,  or  sat,  or  stood.  In  fact  his  walk  was  a 
complete  strut,  to  which  the  pride,  arising  from  the  con- 
sciousness of,  or  rather  the  belief  in,  his  extraordinary  height 
gave  an  extremely  ludicrous  appearance.  Poor  Tom  was 
about  five  feet  nine  in  height,  but  imagined  himself  to  be  at 
least  a  foot  higher.  His  whole  family  were  certainly  tall, 
and  one  of  the  greatest  calamities  of  the  poor  fellow's  life 
was  a  bitter  reflection  that  he  himself  was  by  several  inches 
the  lowest  of  his  race.  This  was  the  only  exception  he 
made  with  respect  to  height,  but  so  deeply  did  it  affect  him 
that  he  could  scarcely  ever  allude  to  it  without  shedding 
tears.  The  life  he  led  was  similar  in  most  respects  to  that 
of  his  unhappy  class.  He  wandered  about  through  the 
country,  stopping  now  at  one  farmer's  house,  and  now  at 
another's,  wliere  he  always  experienced  a  kind  reception, 
because  he  was  not  only  amusing  and  inoffensive,  but  capa- 
ble of  making  himself  useful  as  a  messenger  and  drudge. 
He  was  never  guilty  of  a  dishonest  act,  nor  ever  known  to 
commit  a  breach  of  trust  \  and  as  a  quick  messenger,  his 
extraordinary  speed  of  foot  rendered  him  unrivalled.  His 
great  delight,  however,  was  to  attend  sportsmen,  to  whom  he 
was  invaluable  as  a  guide  and  director.  Such  was  his  wind 
and  speed  of  foot  that,  aided  by  his  knowledge  of  what  is 
termed  the  lie  of  the  country,  he  was  able  to  keep  up  with 
any  pack  of  hounds  that  ever  went  out.  As  a  soho  man  he 
was  unrivalled.     The  form  of  every  hare  for  miles  about  was 


WILL  Y  REIL  L  Y.  -==^S 

known  to  him,  and  if  a  fox  or  a  covey  of  partridges  were  to 
be  found  at  all,  he  was  your  man.  in  wild-fowl  shooting  he 
was  infallible.  No  pass  of  duck,  widgeon,  barnacle,  or  cur- 
lew, was  unknown  to  him.  In  fact,  his  principal  delight  was 
to  attend  the  gentry  of  the  country  to  the  field,  either  with 
harrier,  foxhound,  or  setter.  No  coursing  match  went  right 
if  Tom  were  not  present  ;  and  as  for  shooting,  his  eye  and 
ear  were  such  as,  for  accuracy  of  observation,  few  have  ever 
witnessed.  It  is  true  he  could  subsist  a  long  time  without 
food,  but,  like  the  renowned  Captain  Dalgetty,  when  an 
abundance  of  it  happened  to  be  placed  before  him,  he  dis- 
played the  most  indefensible  ignorance  as  to  all  knowledge 
of  the  period  when  he  ought  to  stop,  considering  it  his 
bounden  duty  on  all  occasions  to  clear  off  whatever  was  set 
before  him — a  feat  which  he  always  accomplished  with  the 
most  signal  success. 

"  Aha  !  "  exclaimed  Tom,  "  dal  Red  Rapparee  is  tall  man, 
but  not  tall  as  Tom  :  him  no  steeple  like  Tom  ;  but  him 
rogue  and  murderer,  an'  Tom  honest ;  him  won  '  carry  off 
Cooleen  Bawn,  dough,  nor  rob  her  fader  ayder.  Coi.>e,  Tom, 
Steeple  Tom,  out  with  your  two  legs,  one  afore  toder,  and 
put  Rapparee's  nose  out  o'  joint.  Cooleen  Bawn  dat's  good 
to  everybody,  Catlicks  (Catholics)  an'  all,  an'  often  offered 
Tom  many  a  bully  dinner.  Hicko  !  hicko  !  be  de  bones  of 
Peter  White— off  I  go  !  " 

Tom,  like  many  other  individuals  of  his  description,  was 
never  able  to  get  over  the  language  of  childhood — a  charac- 
teristic which  is  often  appended  to  the  want  of  reason,  and 
from  which,  we  presume,  the  term  "  innocent  "  has  been  ap- 
plied in  an  especial  manner  to  those  who  are  remarkable  for 
the  same  defect. 

Having  uttered  the  words  we  have  just  recited,  he  started 
off  at  a  gait,  peculiar  to  fools,  which  is  known  by  the  name 
of  "  a  sling  trot,"  and  after  getting  out  upon  the  old  road 
he  turned  himself  in  the  direction  which  Willy  Reilly  and 
his  party  had  taken,  and  there  we  beg  to  leave  him  for  the 
present. 

The  old  squire  felt  his  animal  heat  much  revived  by  './le 
warmth  of  the  frieze  coat,  and  his  spirits,  now  that  the  dread- 
ful scene  into  which  he  had  been  so  unexpectedly  cast  had 
passed  away  without  danger,  began  to  rise  so  exuberantly 
that  his  conversation  became  quite  loquacious  and  mirthful, 
if  not  actually,  to  a  certain  extent,  incoherent. 

"  Sir,"  said  he,  "you  must  come  home  with  me — confound 


36  WILL  V  REILL  V. 

me,  but  you  must,  and  you  needn't  say  nay,  now,  for  I  shall 
neither  take  excuse  nor  apology.  I  am  a  hospitable  man, 
Mr. — what's  this  your  name  is  ?  " 

"My  name,  sir,"  replied  the  other,  "  is  Reilly — William 
Reilly,  or,  as  I  am  more  generally  called,  Willy  Reilly.  The 
name,  sir,  though  an  honorable  one,  is,  in  this  instance,  that 
of  an  humble  man,  but  one  who,  I  trust,  will  never  disgrace  it." 

"  You  must  come  home  with  me,  Mr.  Reilly.  Not  a  word 
now." 

"•  Such  is  my  intention,  sir,"  replied  Reilly.  "  I  shall  not 
leave  you  until  I  see  that  all  risk  of  danger  is  past — until  I 
place  you  safely  under  your  own  roof." 

"  Well,  now,"  continued  the  old  squire,  "  I  believe  a 
Papist  can  be  a  gentleman — a  brave  man — a  man  of  honor, 
Mr.  Reilly." 

"  I  am  not  aware  that  there  is  anything  in  his  religion 
to  make  him  either  dishonorable  or  cowardly,  sir,"  replied 
Reilly  with  a  smile. 

"No  matter,"  continued  the  other,  who  found  a  good 
deal  of  difficulty  in  restraining  his  prejudices  on  that  point, 
"no  matter,  sir,  no  matter,  Mr. — a — a — oh,  yes,  Reilly,  we 
will  have  nothing  to  do  with  religion — away  with  it — confound 
religion,  sir,  if  it  prevents  one  man  from  being  thankful,  and 
grateful  too,  to  another,  when  that  other  has  saved  his  life. 
What's  your  state  and  condition  in  society,  Mr. — ?  confound 
the  scoundrel !  he'd  have  shot  me.  We  must  hang  that  fel- 
low— the  Red  Rapparee  they  call  him — a  dreadful  scourge 
to  the  country  ;  and,  another  thing,  Mr. — Mr.  Mahon — you 
must  come  to  my  daughter's  wedding.  Not  a  word  now — by 
the  great  Boyne,  you  must.  Have  you  ever  seen  my  daughter, 
sir .? " 

"I  have  nevcx  had  that  pJeasute,"  replied  Reilly,  "but 
I  have  heard  enough  of  her  wonderful  goodness  and  beauty." 

"Well,  sir,  I  tell  you  to  your  teeth  that  I  deny  your  words 
— you  have  stated  a  falsehood,  sir — a  lie,  sir." 

"What  do  you  mean,  sir?"  replied  Reilly,  somewhat  in- 
dignantly. "  I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  stating  a  falsehood,  nor 
of  submitting  tamely  to  such  an  imputation." 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha,  I  say  it's  a  lie  still,  my  friend.  What  did 
you  say  ?  Whv,  that  you  had  heard  enough  of  her  goodness 
and  beauty.  Now,  sir,  by  the  banks  of  the  Boyne,  1  say  you 
didn't  hear  half  enough  of  either  one  or  t'other.  Sir,  you 
should  know  her,  for  although  you  are  a  Papist  you  are  a 
brave  man,  and  a  gentleman.     Still,  sir,  a  Papist  is  not— 


WILL  Y  KEILL  V.  .^^  7 

curse  it  this  isn't  handsome  of  me,  Willy.  I  beg  your  par- 
don. Confound  all  religions  if  it  goes  to  that.  Still  at  the 
same  time  I'm  bound  to  say  as  a  loyal  man  that  Protestant- 
ism is  \wy  forte,  Mr.  Reilly — there's  where  I'm  strong,  a  touch 
of  Hercules  about  me  there,  Mr.  Reilly— Willy,  I  mean. 
Well,  you  are  a  thorough  good  fellow,  Papist  and  all,  though 
you — ahem  ! — never  mind  though,  you  shall  see  my  daughter, 
and  you  shall  hear  my  daughter  ;  for,  by  the  great  Boyne,  she 
must  salute  the  man  'that  saved  her  father's  life,  and  prevent 
her  from  being  an  orphan.  And  yet  see,  Willy,  I  love  that 
girl  to  such  a  degree  that  if  heaven  was  open  for  me  this 
moment,  and  that  Saint  Peter — hem  ! — I  mean  the  Apostle 
Peter,  said  to  me,  '  Come  Folliard,  walk  in,  sir,'  by  the  great 
Deliverer  that  saved  us  from  Pope  and  Popery,  brass  money, 
.and — ahem  I  I  beg  your  pardon — well,  I  say  if  he  was  to  say 
so,  I  wouldn't  leave  her.  There's  affection  for  you  ;  but  she 
deserves  it.  No,  if  ever  a  girl  was  capable  of  keeping  an  old 
father  from  heaven  she  is." 

"  I  understand  your  meaning,  sir,"  replied  Reilly  with  a 
smile,  "and  I  believe  she  is  loved  by  every  one  who  has  the 
pleasure  of  knowing  her — by  rich  and  poor." 

"Troth,  Mr.  Reilly,"  observed  Andy,  "it's  a  sin  for  any 
one  to  let  their  affections,  even  for  one  of  their  own  childer, 
go  between  them  and  heaven.  As  for  the  masther,  he  makes 
a  god  of  her.  To  be  sure  if  ever  there  was  an  angel  in  this 
world  she  is  one." 

"  Get  out,  you  old  whelp,"  exclaimed  his  master  ;  "  what 
do  you  know  about  it  ? — you  who  never  had  wife  or  child  t 
isn't  she  my  only  child? — the  apple  of  my  eye  ?  the  love  of 
my  heart  ?" 

"  If  you  loved  her  so  well  you  wouldn't  make  her  unhappy 
then." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  you  despicable  old  Papist  1 " 

"  I  mean  that  you  wouldn't  marry  her  to  a  man  she  doesn't 
like,  as  you're  goin'  to  do.  That's  a  bad  way  to  make  her 
happy,  at  any  rate." 

"Overlook  the  word  Papist,  Mr.  Reilly,  that  I  applied  to 
that  old  idolater — the  fellow  worships  images  ;  of  course  you 
know,  as  a  Papist,  he  does — ahem  ! — but  to  show  you  that  I 
don't  hate  the  Papist  without  exception,  I  beg  to  let  you 
know,  sir,  that  I  frequently  have  the  Papist  priest  of  our 
parish  to  dine  with  me  ;  and  if  that  isn't  liberality  the  devil's 
in  it.  Isn't  that  true,  you  superstitious  old  Padareen  1  No, 
Mr.  Reilly,  Mr.  Mahon — Willy,  I   mean — I'm  a  liberal  man, 


38  IVlLLy  /i£/LLi 

and  I  hope  we'll  be  all  saved  yet,  with  the  exception  of  the 
Pope — ahem  !  yes,  I  hope  we  shall  all  be  saved." 

"  Throth,  sir,"  said  Andy,  addressing  himself  to  Reilly, 
"  he's  a  quare  gentleman,  this.  He's  always  abusing  the 
Papists,  as  he  calls  us,  and  yet  for  every  Protestant  servant 
undher  his  roof  he  has  three  Papists,  as  he  calls  us.  His 
bark,  sir,  is  worse  than  his  bite,  any  day." 

"  I  believe  it,"  replied  Reilly  in  a  low  voice,  "  and  it's  a 
pity  that  a  good  and  benevolent  man  should  suffer  these  idle 
prejudices  to  sway  him." 

"  Divil  a  bit  they  sway  him,  sir,"  replied  Andy;  "he'll 
damn  and  abuse  them  and  their  religion,  and  yet  he'll  go  any 
length  to  serve  one  o'  them,  if  they  want  a  friend,  and  has  a 
good  character.  But  here,  now  we're  at  the  gate  of  the 
avenue,  and  you'll  soon  see  the  Coo/een  Ba^vnP 

"  Hallo  !  "  the  squire  shouted  out,  "  what  the  devil  !  are 
you  dead  or  asleep  there  ?  Brady,  you  Papist  scoundrel,  why 
not  open  the  gate  .'' " 

The  porter's  wife  came  out  as  he  uttered  the  words,  say- 
ing, "  I  beg  your  honor's  pardon,  Ned  is  up  at  the  Castle  ; " 
and  whilst  speaking  she  opened  the  gate. 

"  Ha,  Molly !  "  exclaimed  her  master  in  a  tone  of  such 
bland  good  nature  as  could  not  for  a  moment  be  mistaken  ; 
"  Well,  Molly,  how  is  little  Mick  ?  Is  he  better,  poor  fellow  .?  " 

"  He  is,  thank  God,  and  your  honor." 

"  Hallo,  Molly,"  said  the  squire,  laughing,  "that's  Popery 
again.  You  are  thanking  God  and  me  as  if  we  were  intimate 
acquaintances.  None  of  that  foolish  Popish  nonsense.  When 
you  thank  God,  thank  him  ;  and  when  you  thank  me,  why 
thank  me  ;  but  don't  unite  us,  as  you  do  him  and  your  Popish 
saints,  for  I  tell  you,  Molly,  I'm  no  saint  ;  God  forbid  !  Tell 
the  doctorman  to  pay  him  every  attention,  and  to  send  his 
bill  to  me  when  the  child  is  properly  recovered  ;  mark  that — 
properly  recovered." 

A  noble  avenue,  that  swept  along  with  two  or  three  mag- 
nificent bends,  brought  them  up  to  a  fine  old  mansion  of  the 
castellated  style,  where  the  squire  and  his  two  equestrian 
attendants  dismounted,  and  were  ushered  into  the  parlor, 
which  they  found  brilliantly  lighted  up  with  a  number  of 
large  wax  tapers.  The  furniture  of  the  room  was  exceed- 
ingly rich,  but  somewhat  curious  and  old-fashioned.  It  was 
such,  however,  as  to  give  ample  proof  of  great  wealth  and 
comfort,  and,  by  the  'leat  of  a  large  peat  fiie  which  blazed  in 
the  cajucious  hearth,  it  communicated  that  sense  of  warmth 


WTLLY  RE7LLY.  ^g 

which  was  in  complete  accordance  with  the  general  aspect  of 
the  apartment.  An  old  gray-haired  butler,  well-powdered, 
together  with  two  or  three  other  servants  in  rich  livery,  now 
entered,  and   the  squire's  first  inquiry  was  after  his  daughter. 

"  John,"  Slid  he  to  the  butler,  "  how  is  your  mistress  ?" 
but,  without  waiting  for  a  reply,  he  added,  "  here  are  twenty 
pounds,  which  you  will  hand  to  those  fine  fellows  at  the  hall- 
door." 

"  Pardon  me,  sir,"  replied  Reilly,  "  those  men  are  my 
tenants,  and  the  sons  of  my  tenants  ;  they  have  only  per- 
formed towards  you  a  duty,  which  common  humanity  would 
require  at  their  hands  towards  the  humblest  person  that 
lives." 

"They  must  accept  it,  Mr.  Reilly — they  must  have  it — 
they  are  humble  men — and  as  it  is  only  the  reward  of  a  kind 
office,  I  think  it  is  justly  due  to  them.  Here,  John,  give  them 
the  money.' 

It  was  in  vain  that  Reilly  interposed  ;  the  old  squire  would 
not  listen  to  him.  John  was,  accordingly,  dispatched  to  the 
hall  steps,  but  found  that  they  had  all  gone. 

At  this  moment  our  friend  Tom  Steeple  met  the  butler, 
whom  he  approached  with  a  kind  of  wild  and  uncouth  anx- 
iety. 

'"Aha!  Mista  John,"  said  he,  "you  tall  man  too,  but 
not  tall  as  Tom  Steeple — ah,  ha — you  good  man  too,  Mista 
John — give  Tom  bully  dinners — Willy  Reilly,  Mista  John, 
want  to  see  Willy  Reilly." 

"  What  do  you  want  with  him,  Tom  ?  he's  engaged  wnth 
the  master." 

"  Must  see  him,  Mista  John  ;  stitch  in  time  saves  nine. 
Hicko  '  hicko  !  God's  sake,  Mista  John  :  God's  sake  !  Up 
dere  ;"  and  as  he  spoke  he  pointed  towards  the  sky. 

"  Well,  but  what  is  your  business,  then  ?  What  have  you 
to  say  to  him  ?     He's  engaged,  I  tell  you." 

Tom,  apprehensive  that  he  m^ght  not  get  an  opportunity 
to  communicate  with  Reilly,  bolted  in,  and  as  the  parlor  door 
stood  open,  he  saw  him  standing  near  the  large  chimne]'- 
piece. 

"  Willy  Reilly  I"  he  exclaimed  in  a  voice  that  trembled 
with  earnestness,  "Willy  Reilly,  dere's  news  for  you — for  de 
squire  too — bad  news — God's  sake  come  wid  Tom — you  tall 
too,  Willy  Reilly,  but  not  tall  as  Tom  is." 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Tom  ?  "  asked  Reilly  ;  "  you  look 
alarmed." 


40 


WILLY  REILLY. 


"  God's  sake,  here,  Willy  Reilly,"  replied  the  kind-hearted 
fool,  "  come  wid  Tom.     Bad  news." 

"  Hallo  !  exclaimed  the  squire,  "  what  is  the  matter  ?  Is 
this  Tom  Steeple?  Go  to  the  kitchen,  Tom,  and  get  one  of 
your  '  bully  dinners  ' — my  poor  fellow — oi^  with  you — and  a 
pot  cf  beer,  Tom." 

An  expression  of  distress,  probably  heightened  by  his 
vague  and  unconscious  sense  of  the  squire's  kindness,  was 
depi  ted  strongly  on  his  countenance,  and  ended  in  a  burst 
of  t  a;s. 

'  ila  !  "  exclaimed  Reilly,  "  poor  Tom,  sir,  was  with  us 
to-night  on  our  duck-shooting  excursion,  and,  now  that  I  re- 
member, remained  behind  us  in  the  old  ruin — and  then  he  is 
in  tears.  What  can  this  mean  ?  I  will  go  with  you,  Tom — 
excuse  me,  sir,  for  a  few  minutes — there  can  be  no  harm  in 
hearing  what  he  has  to  say." 

He  accompanied  the  fool,  with  whom  he  remained  for 
about  six  or  eight  minutes,  after  which  he  re-entered  the 
parlor  with  a  face  which  strove  in  vain  to  maintain  its  pre- 
vious expression  of  ease  and  serenity. 

"Well,  Willy?"  said  the  squire — "you  see,  by  the  way,  I 
make  an  old  acquaintance  of  you — " 

"  You  do  me  honor,  sir,"  replied  Reilly. 

"  Well,  what  was  this  mighty  matter  ?  Not  a  fool's  mes- 
sage, I  hope  ?  eh  !  " 

"  No,  sir,"  said  the  other,  "  but  a  matter  of  some  impor- 
tance." 

"  John,"  asked  the  master,  as  the  butler  entered,  "  did  you 
give  those  worthy  fellows  the  money  ?  " 

"  No,  your  honor,"  replied  the  other,  they  were  gone 
before  I  went  out." 

"Well,  well,"  replied  his  master,  "it  can't  be  helped. 
You  will  excuse  me,  Mr. — a — a — yes — Mr.  Reilly — Willy — 
Willy — ay,  that's  it — you  will  excuse  me,  Willy,  for  not  bring- 
ing you  to  the  drawing-room.  The  fact  is,  neither  of  us  is  in 
a  proper  trim  to  go  there — both  travel-soiled,  as  they  say — • 
you  with  duck-shooting  and  I  with  a  long  ride — besides,  I 
am  quite  too  much  fatigued  to  change  my  dress — John,  some 
Madeira.  I'm  better  than  I  was — but  still  dreadfully  ex- 
hausted— and  afterwards,  John,  tell  your  mistress  that  her 
father  wishes  to  see  her  here.  First,  the  Madeira,  though,  till 
I  recruit  myself  a  little.  A  glass  or  two  will  do  neither  of 
us  any  harm,  Willy,  but  a  great  deal  of  good.  God  bless  me  ! 
what  an  escape  I've  had!  what  a  dreadful   fate  vou  rescued 


WILLY  REILLY. 

me  from,  my  young  friend  and  preserver — for  as  such  I  will 
ever  look  upon  you." 

"Sir,"  replied  Reilly,  "I  will  not  deny  that  the  appear- 
ance of  myself  and  my  companions,  in  all  probability,  saved 
your  life." 

"There  was  no  probability  in  it,  Willy — none  at  all  ;  it 
would  have  been  a  dead  certainty  in  every  sense.  My  God! 
Here,  John — pu'  it  down  here — fill  for  that  gentleman  and 
me — thank  you,  John — Willy,"  he  said  as  he  took  the  glass 
in  his  trembling  hand — "Willy — John,  withdraw  and  send 
down  my  daughter — Willy" — the  old  man  looked  at  him,  but 
was  too  full  to  utter  a  word.  At  this  moment  his  daughter 
entered  the  room,  and  the  father,  laying  down  the  glass, 
opened  his  arms,  and  said  in  a  choking  voice,  "  Helen,  my 
daughter — my  child — come  to  me ; "  and  as  she  threw  her- 
self into  them  he  embraced  her  tenderly  and  wept  aloud. 

"  Dear  papa  !  "  she  exclaimed,  after  the  first  burst  of  his 
grief  was  over,  "  what  has  affected  you  so  deeply  t  Why  are 
you  so  much  agitated  ?  " 

"  Look  at  that  noble  3'oung  man,"  he  exclaimed,  direct- 
ing her  attention  to  Reilly,  who  was  still  standing.  "  Look 
at  him,  my  life,  and  observe  him  well  ;  there  he  stands  who 
has  this  night  saved  your  loving  father  from  the  deadly  aim 
of  an  assassin — from  being  murdered  by  O'Donnel,  the  Red 
Rapparee,  in  the  lonely  moors." 

Reilly,  from  the  moinent  the  far-famed  Cooleen  Bman  en- 
tered the  room,  hear'l  not  a  syllable  the  old  man  had  said. 
He  was  absorbed,  eiiLianced,  struck  with  a  sensation  of  won- 
der, surprise,  agitation,  joy,  and  confusion,  all  nearly  at  the 
same  moment.  Such  a  blaze  of  beauty,  such  elegance  of  per- 
son, such  tenderness  and  feeling  as  chastened  the  radiance  of 
her  countenance  into  something  that  might  be  termed  abso- 
hitely  divine  ;  such  symmetry  of  form  ;  such  harmony  of  mo- 
tion ;  such  a  seraphic  being  in  the  shape  of  woman,  he  had, 
in  fact,  never  seen  or  dreamt  of.  She  seemed  as  if  surrounded 
by  an  atmosphere  of  light,  of  dignity,  of  goodness,  of  grace  ; 
but  that  which,  above  all,  smote  his  heart  on  the  moment 
was  the  spirit  of  tenderness  and  profound  sensibility  which 
seemed  to  predominate  in  her  whole  being.  Why  did  his 
manly  and  intrepid  heart  palpitate  }  Why  did  such  a  strange 
confusion  seize  upon  him  ?  Why  did  the  few  words  which 
she  uttered  in  her  father's  arms  fill  his  ears  with  a  melody 
that  charmed  him  out  of  his  strength  .^  Alas  !  is  it  necessary 
to  ask  ?     To  those  who  do  not  understand  this  mystery,  no 


42 


WILL  V  REILL  Y. 


explanation  could  be  of  any  avail ;  and  to  those  who  do,  none 
is  necessary. 

After  her  father  had  spoken,  she  raised  herself  from  his 
arms,  and  assuming  her  full  height — and  she  was  tall — looked 
for  a  moment  with  her  dark,  deep,  and  terrible  eyes  upon 
Reilly,  who  in  the  mean  time  felt  rapt,  spell-bound,  and  stood, 
whilst  his  looks  were  riveted  upon  these  irresistible  orbs,  as  if 
he  had  been  attracted  by  the  influence  of  some  delightful  but 
supernatural  power,  under  which  he  felt  himself  helpless. 

That  mutual  gaze  and  that  delightful  moment !  alas  !  how 
many  hours  of  misery — of  sorrow — of  suffering — and  of  mad- 
ness did  they  not  occasion  ! 

"  Papa  has  imposed  a  task  upon  me,  sir,"  she  said,  ad- 
vancing gracefully  towards  him,  her  complexion  now  pale, 
and  again  overspread  with  deep  blushes.  "  What  do  I  say  ? 
A  task — a  task  !  to  thank  the  preserver  of  my  father's  life — I 
know  not  what  I  say  :  help  me,  sir,  to  papa — I  am  weak — I 
am — "  Reilly  flew  to  her,  and  caught  her  in  his  arms  just  in 
time  to  prevent  her  from  falling. 

"  My  God  !  "  exclaimed  her  father,  getting  to  his  feet, 
"what  is  the  matter?  I  was  wrong  to  mention  the  circum- 
stance so  abruptly  ;  I  ought  to  have  prepared  her  for  it.  You 
are  strong,  Reilly,  you  are  strong,  and  I  am  feeble — carry  her 
to  the  settee.  There,  God  bless  you  ! — God  bless  you  ! — she 
will  soon  recover.  Helen  !  my  child  !  my  life  !  What,  Helen  ! 
Come,  dearest  love,  be  a  woman.  I  am  safe,  as  you  may  see, 
dearest.  1  tell  \o\\  I  sustained  no  injury  in  life — not  a  hair 
of  my  head  was  hurt  ;  thanks  to  Mr.  Reilly  for  it — thanks  to 
this  gentleman.  Oh  !  that's  right,  bravo,  Helen — bravo,  my 
girl !  See  that,  Reilly,  isn't  she  a  glorious  creature  ?  She 
recovers  now,  to  set  her  old  loving  father's  heart  at  ease." 

The  weakness,  for  it  did  not  amount  altogether  to  insensi- 
bility, was  only  of  brief  duration. 

"Dear  papa,"  said  she,  raising  herself,  and  withdrawing 
gently  and  modestly  from  Reilly's  support,  "  I  was  unprepared 
for  the  account  of  this  dreadful  affair.  Excuse  me,  sir ; 
surely  you  will  admit  that  a  murderous  attack  on  dear  papa's 
life  could  not  be  listened  to  by  his  only  child  with  indiffer- 
ence.    But  do  let  me  know  how  it  happened,  papa." 

"  You  are  not  yet  equal  to  it,  darling ;  you  are  too  much 
agitated." 

"  I  am  equal  to  it  now,  papa  !  Pray,  let  me  hear  it,  and 
how  this  gentleman — who  will  be  kind  enough  to  imagine  my 
thanks,  for,  indeed,  no  language  could  express  them — and 
how  this  gentleman  was  the  means  of  saving  you." 


WILL  Y  REILL  Y.  ^43 

*'  Perhaps,  Miss  Folliard,"  said  Reilly,  "  it  would  be  bet- 
ter to  defer  the  explanation  •  -itil  you  shall  have  gained  more 
Strength." 

"  Oh,  no,  sir,"  she  replied  ;  "  my  anxiety  to  hear  it  will 
occasion  me  greater  suffering,  I  am  sure,  than  the  knowledge 
of  it,  especially  now  that  papa  is  safe." 

Reilly  bowed  in  acquiescence,  but  not  in  consequence  of 
her  words  ;  a  glance  as  quick  as  the  lightning,  but  full  of 
entreaty  and  gratitude,  and  something  like  joy — for  who  does 
not  know  the  many  languages  which  the  single  glance  of  a 
lovely  woman  can  speak  "i — such  a  glance,  we  say,  accom- 
panied her  words,  and  at  once  won  him  to  assent. 

"  Miss  Folliard  may  be  right,  sir,"  he  observed,  "  and  as 
the  shock  has  passed,  perhaps  to  make  her  briefly  acquainted 
with  the  circumstances  will  rather  relieve  her." 

"  Right,"  said  her  father,  "  so  it  will,  Willy,  so  it  will, 
especially,  thank  God,  as  there  has  been  no  harm  done. 
Look  at  this  now  !  Get  away,  you  saucy  baggage  !  Your 
poor  loving  father  has  only  just  escaped  being  shot,  and  now 
he  runs  the  risk  of  being  strangled." 

"  Dear,  dear  papa,"  she  said,  "  who  could  have  thought 
of  injuring  you — you  with  your  angry  tongue,  but  your  gen- 
erous and  charitable  and  noble  heart  ? "  and  again  she  wound 
her  exquisite  and  lovely  arms  about  his  neck  and  kissed  him, 
whilst  a  fresh  gush  of  tears  came  to  her  eyes. 

"  Come,  Helen — come,  love,  be  quiet  now,  or  I  shall  not 
tell  you  anything  more  about  my  rescue  by  that  gallant  young 
fellow  standing  before  you." 

This  was  followed,  on  her  part,  by  another  glance  at 
Reilly,  and  the  glance  was  as  speedily  followed  by  a  blush, 
and  again  a  host  of  tumultuous  emotions  crowded  around  his 
heart. 

The  old  man,  placing  her  head  upon  his  bosom,  kissed 
and  patted  her,  after  which  he  related  briefly,  and  in  such  a 
way  as  not,  if  possible,  to  excite  her  afresh,  the  circumstances 
with  which  the  reader  is  already  acquainted.  At  the  close, 
however,  when  he  came  to  the  part  which  Reilly  had  borne 
in  the  matter,  and  dwelt  at  more  length  on  his  intrepidity  and 
spirit,  and  the  energy  of  character  and  courage  with  which  he 
quelled  the  terrible  Rapparee,  he  was  obliged  to  stop  for  a 
moment,  and  say. 

"  Why,  Helen,  what  is  the  matter,  my  darling  ?  Are  you 
getting  ill  again  }  Your  little  heart  is  going  at  a  gallop — 
bJess  me,  how  it  pit-a-pats.     There,  now,  you've  heard  it  all 


44  WILL  V  RE  ILL  Y. 

— here  I  am,  safe — and  there  stands  the  gentleman  to  whom, 
under  God,  we  are  both  indebted  for  it.  And  now  let  us 
have  dinner,  darling,  for  we  have  not  dined." 

Apologies  on  the  part  of  Reilly,  who  really  had  dined, 
were  flung  to  the  winds  by  the  old  squire. 

"  What  matter,  Willy  ?  what  matter,  man  ? — sit  at  the 
table,  pick  something — curse  it,  we  won't  eat  you.  Your 
dress  ?  never  mind  your  dress.  I  am  sure  Helen  here  will 
not  find  fault  with  it.  Come,  Helen,  use  your  influence,  love. 
And  you,  sir,  Willy  Reilly,  give  her  your  arm."  This  he 
added  in  consequence  of  dinner  having  been  announced 
while  he  spoke ;  and  so  they  passed  into  the  dining-room. 


CHAPTER   HI. 

DARING   ATTEMPT    OF   THE    RED    RAPPAREE MYSTERIOUS   DIS- 
APPEARANCE OF  HIS   GANG THE  AVOWAL. 

We  must  go  back  a  little.  When  Helen  sank  under  the 
dreadful  intelligence  of  the  attempt  made  to  assassinate  her 
father,  we  stated  at  the  time  that  she  was  not  absolutely  in- 
sensible ;  and  this  was  the  fact.  Reilly,  already  enraptured 
by  such  wonderful  grace  and  beauty  as  the  highest  flight  of 
his  imagination  could  never  have  conceived,  when  called 
upon  by  her  father  to  carry  her  to  the  sofa,  could  scarcely 
credit  his  senses  that  such  a  lovely  and  precious  burden 
should  ever  be  entrusted  to  him,  much  less  borne  in  his  very 
arms.  In  order  to  prevent  her  from  falling,  he  was  literally 
obliged  to  throw  them  around  her,  and,  to  a  certain  extent, 
to  press  her — for  the  purpose  of  supporting  her — against  his 
heart,  the  pulsations  of  which  were  going  at  a  tremendous 
speed.  There  was,  in  fact,  something  so  soft,  so  pitiable,  so 
beautiful,  and  at  the  same  time  so  exquisitely  pure  and  fra- 
grant, in  this  lovely  creature,  as  her  head  lay  drooping  on  his 
shoulder,  her  pale  cheek  literally  lying  against  his,  that  it  is 
not  at  all  to  be  wondered  at  that  the  beatings  of  his  heart 
were  accelerated  to  an  unusual  degree.  Now  she,  from  her 
position  upon  his  bosom,  nece'^sarily  felt  this  rapid  action  of 
its  tenant  ;  when,  therefore,  her  father,  after  her  recovery,  on 
reciting  for  her  the  fearful  events  of  the  evening,  and  dwell- 


TV/LL  Y  RE  ILL  Y.  ^^ 

ingupon  Reilly's  determination  and  courage,  expressed  alarm 
at  the  palpitations  of  her  heart,  a  glance  passed  between 
them  which  each,  once  and  forever,  understood.  She  had 
felt  the  agitation  of  his,  who  had  risked  his  life  in  defence  of 
her  father,  for  in  this  shape  the  old  man  had  truly  put  it  ;  and 
now  she  knew  from  her  father's  observations,  as  his  arm  lay 
upon  her  own,  that  the  interest  which  his  account  of  Reilly's 
chivalrous  conduct  throughout  the  whole  affair  had  excited  in 
it  were  discovered.  In  this  case  heart  spoke  to  heart,  and  by 
the  time  they  sat  down  to  dinner,  each  felt  conscious  that 
their  passion,  brief  as  was  the  period  of  their  acquaintance, 
had  become,  whether  for  good  or  evil,  the  uncontrollable 
destiny  of  their  lives. 

William  Reilly  was  the  descendant  of  an  old  and  noble 
Irish  family.  His  ancestors  had  gone  through  all  the  vicis- 
situdes and  trials,  and  been  engaged  in  most  of  the  civil 
broils  and  wars,  which,  in  Ireland,  had  characterized  the 
reign  of  Elizabeth.  As  we  are  not  disposed  to  enter  into  a 
disquisition  upon  the  history  of  that  stormy  period,  unless  to 
say  that  we  believe  in  our  souls  both  parties  were  equally 
savage  and  inhuman,  and  that  there  was  not,  literally,  a  toss 
up  between  them,  we  have  only  to  add  that  Reilly's  family, 
at  least  that  branch  of  it  to  which  he  belonged,  had  been 
reduced  by  the  ruin  that  resulted  from  the  civil  wars,  and 
the  confiscations  peculiar  to  the  times.  His  father  had 
made  a  good  deal  of  money  abroad  in  business,  but  feeling 
that  melancholy  longing  for  his  native  soil,  for  the  dark 
mountains  and  the  green  fields  of  his  beloved  country,  he  re- 
turned to  it,  and  having  taken  a  large  farm  of  about  a  thou- 
sand acres,  under  a  peculiar  tenure,  which  we  shall  mention 
ere  we  close,  he  devoted  himself  to  pasturage  and  agriculture. 
Old  Reilly  had  been  for  some  years  dead,  and  his  eldest  son, 
William,  was  now  not  only  the  head  of  his  immediate  family, 
but  of  that  great  branch  of  it  to  which  he  belonged,  although 
he  neither  claimed  nor  exercised  the  honor.  In  Reilly,  many 
of  those  irreconcilable  points  of  character,  which  scarcely 
ever  meet  in  the  disposition  of  any  but  an  Irishman,  were 
united.  He  was  at  once  mild  and  impetuous  ;  under  peculiar 
circumstances,  humble  and  unassuming,  but  in  others,  proud 
almost  to  a  fault  ;  a  bitter  foe  to  oppression  in  every  sense, 
and  to  bigotry  in  every  creed.  He  was  highly  educated,  and 
as  perfect  a  master  of  French,  Spanish,  and  German,  as  he 
was  of  either  English  or  Irish,  both  of  which  he  spoke  with 
equal  fluency  and  purity.     To  his  personal  courage  we  need 


46  WILL  V  REILL  Y. 

not  maRe  cin;/  I'urther  allusion.  On  many  occasions  it  had 
been  weh  tested  on  the  Continent,  He  was  an  expert  and 
unrivallea  swordsman,  and  a  first  rate  shot,  whether  with  the 
pistol  or  fowhng-piece.  At  eveiy  athletic  exercise  he  was 
matchless;  and  one  great  cause  of  his  extraordinary  popu- 
larity among  the  peasantry  was  the  pleasure  he  took  in  pro- 
moting the  exercise  of  such  manly  sports  among  them.  In 
his  person  he  combined  great  strength  with  remarkable  grace 
and  ease.  The  wonderful  symmetry  of  his  form  took  away 
apparently  from  his  size  ;  but  on  looking  at  and  examining 
him  closely,  you  felt  surprised  at  the  astonishing  fulness  of 
his  proportions  and  the  prodigious  muscular  power  which  lay 
under  such  deceptive  elegance.  As  for  his  features,  they  were 
replete  with  that  rnanly  expression  which  changes  with,  and 
becomes  a  candid  exponent  of,  every  feeling  that  influences 
the  heart.  His  mouth  was  fine,  and  his  full  red  lips  exquis- 
itely chiselled  ;  his  chin  was  full  of  firmness  ;  and  his  large 
dark  eyes,  though  soft,  mellow,  and  insinuating,  had  yet  a 
sparkle  in  them  that  gave  evidence  of  a  fiery  spirit  w^hen  pro- 
voked, as  well  as  of  a  high  sense  of  self-respect  and  honor. 
His  complexion  was  slightly  bronzed  by  residence  in  con- 
tinental climates,  a  circumstance  that  gave  a  warmth  and 
mellowness  to  his  features,  which,  when  taken  into  con- 
sideration with  his  black,  clustering  locks,  and  the  snowy 
whiteness  of  his  forehead,  placed  him  in  the  very  highest 
order  of  handsome  men. 

Such  was  our  hero,  the  fame  of  whose  personal  beauty,  as 
well  as  that  of  the  ever-memorable  Coolcen  Bawn,  is  yet  a 
tradition  in  the  country. 

On  this  occasion  the  dinner-party  consisted  only  of  the 
squire,  his  daughter,  and  Reilly.  The  old  man  on  reflecting  that 
he  was  now  safe,  felt  his  spirits  revive  apace.  His  habits  of 
life  were  jolly  and  convivial,  but  not  actually  intemperate,  al- 
though it  must  be  admitted  that  on  some  occasions  he  got 
into  the  debatable  ground.  To  those  who  did  not  know  him, 
and  were  acquainted  through  common  report  only  with  his 
unmitigated  abuse  of  Popery,  he  was  looked  upon  as  an  op- 
pressive and  overbearing  tyrant,  who  would  enforce,  to  the 
furthest  possible  stretch  of  severity,  the  penal  enactments 
then  in  existence  against  Roman  Catholics.  And  this,  in- 
deed, was  true,  so  far  as  any  one  was  concerned  from  whom 
he  imagined  himself  to  have  received  an  injury  ;  against  such 
he  was  a  vindictive  tyrant,  and  a  most  implacable  persecutor. 
By  many,  on  the  other  hand,  he  was  considered  as  an  eccentric 


ivjLL  y  REiLL  y.  ^ 

man,  with  a  weak  head,  but  a  heart  tliat  often  set  all  his  anti- 
Catholic  prejudices  at  complete  defiance 

At  dinner  the  squire  had  most  of  the  conversation  to  him- 
self, his  loquacity  and  good-humor  having  been  very  much 
improved  by  a  few  glasses  of  his  rich  old  Madeira.  His 
daughter,  on  the  other  hand,  seemed  frequently  in  a  state  of 
abstraction,  and,  on  more  than  one  occasion,  found  herself 
incapable  of  answering  several  questions  which  he  put  to  her. 
Ever  and  anon  the  tmiid,  blushing  glance  was  directed  at  Reilly, 
by  whom  it  was  returned  with  a  significance  that  went  directly 
to  her  heart.  Both,  in  fact,  appeared  to  be  influenced  by 
some  secret  train  of  thought  that  seemed  quite  at  variance 
with  the  old  gentleman's  garrulity. 

"Well,"  said  he,  "here  we  are,  thank  God,  all  safe;  and 
it  is  to  you,  Willy,  we  owe  it.  Come,  man,  take  off  your  wine. 
Isn't  he  a  fine  young  fellevv,  Helen  ?  " 

Helen's  heart,  at  the  moment,  had  followed  her  eyes,  and 
she  did  not  hear  him. 

"  Hallo  !  what  the  deuce  ?  By  the  banks  of  the  Boyne,  I 
believe  the  girl  has  lost  her  hearing.  I  say,  Helen,  isn't 
Willy  Reilly  here,  that  prevented  you  from  being  an  orphan, 
a  fine  young  fellow  ? " 

A  sudden  rosy  blush  suffused  her  whole  neck  and  face  on 
hearing  this  blunt  and  inconsiderate  question. 

"  What,  darling,  have  you  not  heard  me  }  " 

"If  Mr.  Reilly  were  not  present,  papa,  I  might  give  an 
opinion  on  that  subject ,  but  I  trust  you  f/Al  excuse  me 
now." 

"Well,  I  suppose  so,  there's  no  getting  women  to  speak 
to  the  point.  At  all  events,  I  would  give  more  than  I'll 
mention  that  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  was  as  good-looking  a 
specimen  of  a  man  ;  I'll  engage,  if  he  was,  you  would  have 
no  objection  to  say  yes,  my  girl." 

"  I  look  to  the  disposition,  papa,  to  the  moral  feelings  and 
principles,  more  than  to  the  person." 

"  Well,  Helen,  that's  right  too — all  right,  darling,  and  on 
that  account  Sir  Robert  must  and  ought  to  be  a  favorite.  He 
is  not  yet  forty,  and  for  this  he  is  himself  my  authority,  and 
forty  is  the  prime  of  life  ;  yet,  with  an  immense  fortune  and 
strong  temptations,  he  has  never  launched  out  into  a  single 
act  of  imprudence  or  folly.  No,  Helen,  he  never  sowed  a 
peck  of  wild  oats  in  his  life.  He  is,  on  the  contrary,  sober, 
grave,  silent — a  little  too  much  so,  by  the  way — cautious, 
prudent,  and  saving.     No  man  knows  the  value  of  money 


^  WILLY  RPJl.LY 

better,  nor  can  contrive  to  make  it  go  further.  Then,  as  for 
managing  a  bargain — upon  my  soul,  I  don't  think  he  treated 
me  well,  though,  in  the  swop  of  '  Hop-and-go-constant ' 
against  my  precious  bit  of  blood,  '  Pat  the  Spanker.'  He 
made  me  pay  twenty-five  pounds  boot  for  an  old — But  you 
shall  see  him,  Reilljs  you  shall  see  him,  Willy,  and  if  ever 
there  was  a  greater  take  in — you  need't  smile,  Helen,  nor 
look  at  Willy.  By  the  good  King  William  that  saved  us  from 
Pope,  and — ahem — I  beg  pardon,  Willy,  but,  upon  my  soul, 
he  took  me  completely  in.  I  say,  I  shall  show  you  Hop-and- 
go-constant,  and  when  you  see  him  you  will  admit  the  '  Hop,' 
but  the  devil  a  bit  you  will  find  of  the  '  Go  constant.'  " 

"  I  suppose  the  gentleman's  personal  appearance,  sir,"  ob- 
served Reilly,  glancing  at  Miss  Folliard,  "  is  equal  to  his 
other  qualities." 

"Why — a — ye — s  He's  tall  and  thin  and  serious,  with 
something  about  him,  say,  of  a  philosopher.  Isn't  that  true, 
Helen?" 

"  Perfectly,  papa,"  she  replied,  with  a  smile  of  arch  humor, 
which,  to  Reilly,  placed  her  character  in  a  new  light. 

"  Perfectly  true,  papa,  so  far  as  you  have  gone  ,  but  I 
trust  vou  will  finish  the  portrait  for  Mr.  Reilly." 

"  Well,  then  I  will.  Where  was  I  ?  Oh,  yes— tall,  thiii, 
and  serious  ;  like  a  philosopher.  I'll  go  next  to  the  shoulders, 
because  Helen  seems  to  like  them — they  are  a  litttle  round 
or  so.  I,  myself,  wish  to  goodness  they  were  somewhat 
straighter,  but  Helen  says  the  curve  is  delightful,  being  what 
painters  and  glaziers  call  the  line  of  beauty." 

A  sweet  light  laugh,  that  rang  with  the  melody  of  a  musi- 
cal bell,  broke  from  Helen  at  this  part  of  the  description,  in 
which,  to  tell  the  truth,  she  was  joined  by  Reilly.  The  old 
man  himself,  from  sheer  happiness  and  good  humor,  joined 
them  both,  though  utterly  ignorant  of  the  cause  of  their 
mirth. 

"  Ay,  ay,"  he  exclaimed,  "  you  may  laugh — by  the  great 
Boyne,  I  knew  I  would  make  you  laugh.  Well,  I'll  go  on  ; 
his  complexion  is  of  a — a — no  matter — of  a  good  standing 
color,  at  all  events  ;  his  nose,  I  grant  you,  is  as  thin,  and 
much  of  the  same  color,  as  pasteboard,  but  as  a  set-off  to  that 
it's  a  thorough  Williamite,  Isn't  that  true,  Helen  ?  " 

"  Yes,  papa  ,  but  I  think  King  William's  nose  was  the 
worst  feature  in  his  face,  alth(  u^h  that  certainly  cannot  be 
said  of  Sir  Robert." 

"  Do  you  hear  that,  Reilly  ?  I  wish  Sir  Robert   heard  it, 


WILL  V  REILL  Y. 


49 


but  I'll  tell  him — there's  a  compliment,  Helen — you're  a  good 
girl — thank  you,  Helen." 

Helen's  face  was  now  radiant  with  mirthful  enjoyment, 
whilst  at  the  same  time  Reilly  could  perceive  that  from  time 
to  time  a  deep  unconscious  sigh  would  escape  from  her,  such 
a  sigh  as  induced  him  to  infer  that  some  hidden  care  was  at 
work  with  her  heart.  This  he  at  once  imputed  to  her  father's 
determination  to  force  her  into  a  marriage  with  the  worthy 
baronet,  whom  in  his  simplicity  he  was  so  ludicrously  de- 
scribing. 

"  Proceed,  papa,  and  finish  as  you  have  begun  it." 

"  I  will,  to  oblige  and  gratify  you,  Helen.  He  is  a  little 
close  about  the  knees,  Mr.  Reilly — a  little  close  about  the 
knees,  Willy." 

"  And  about  the  heart,  papa,"  added  his  daughter,  who,  for 
the  life  of  her,  could  not  restrain  the  observation. 

"  It's  no  fault  to  know  the  value  of  mone}',  my  dear  child. 
However,  let  me  go  on — close  about  the  knees,  but  that's  a 
proof  of  strength,  because  they  support  one  another:  every 
one  knows  that." 

"  But  his  arms,  papa?  " 

"  You  see,  Reilly,  you  see,  Willy,"  said  the  squire,  nod- 
ding in  the  direction  of  his  daughter,  "  not  a  bad  sign  that, 
and  yet  she  pretends  not  to  care  about  him.  She  is  gratified, 
evidently.     Ah,  Helen,  Helen  I  it's  hard  to  know  women." 

"  But  his  arms,  papa  ?  " 

"  Well,  then,  I  wish  to  goodness  you  would  allow  me  to 
skip  that  part  of  the  subject — they  are  an  awful  length,  Willy, 
I  grant.  I  allow  the  fact,  it  cannot  be  denied,  they  are  of  an 
awful  length." 

"  It  will  give  him  the  greater  advantage  in  over-reaching, 
paia"" 

"  Well,  as  to  his  arms,  upon  my  soul,  Willy,  I  know  no 
more  what  to  do  with  them — " 

"  Than  he  does  himself,  papa." 

"  Just  so,  Helen  ;  they  hang  about  him  like  those  of  a 
skeleton  on  wires  ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  he  has  a  neck 
that  always  betokens  true  blood,  long  and  thin  like  that  of 
a  racer.  Altogether  he's  a  devilish  interesting  man,  stead)', 
prudent,  and  sober.    I  never  saw  him  <i  liik  a  third  glass  of — " 

"In  the  mean  time,  papa,"  observed  Helen,  "in  the  en- 
thusiasm of  your  description  you  are  neglecting  Mr.  Reilly." 

Ah,  love,  love  !  in  how  many  minute  points  can  you  make 
yourself  understood ! 


CO  WILL  V  RE  ILL  Y 

"By  the  great  William  and  so  I  am.  Come,  Willy,  help 
yourself  " — and  he  pushed  the  bottle  towards  him  as  he 
spoke. 

And  why,  gentle  reader,  did  Reilly  fill  his  glass  on  that 
particular  occasion  until  it  became  literally  a  brimmer  ?  We 
know — but  if  you  are  ignorant  of  it  we  simply  beg  you  to  re- 
main so  ;  and  why,  on  putting  the  glass  to  his  lips,  did  his 
large  dark  eyes  rest  upon  her  with  that  deep  and  melting 
glance?  Why,  too,  was  that  glance  returned  with  the  quick- 
ness of  thought  before  her  lids  dropped,  and  the  conscious 
blush  suffused  her  face?  The  solution  of  this  we  must  also 
leave  to  your  own  in^^enuity. 

"  Well,"  proceetled  the  squire,  "  steady,  prudent,  sober — 
of  a  fine  old  family,  aiid  with  an  estate  of  twelve  thousand  a 
year — what  do  you  think  of  that,  Willy?  Isn't  she  a  fortunate 
girl  ? " 

"  Taking  his  virtues  and  very  agreeable  person  into  con- 
siderafion.  sir.  I  think  so,"  replied  Reilly  in  a  tone  of  slight 
sarcasm,  which  was  only  calculated  to  reach  one  of  his 
audience. 

"  You  hear  that,  Helen — you  hear  what  Mr.  Reilly — what 
Willy — says.  The  fact  is,  I'll  call  you  nothing  but  Willy  in 
the  future,  Willy — you  hear  what  he  says,  darling?  " 

"  Indeed  I  do,  papa — and  understand  it  perfectly." 

"That's  my  girl.  Twelve  thousand  a  year — and  has 
money  lent  out  at  every  rate  of  interest  from  six  per  cent,  up." 

"  And  vet  I  cannot  consider  him  as  interesting  on  that 
account,  papa." 

"  You  do.  Helen — nonsense,  my  love — you  do,  I  tell  you 
— it's  all  make-believe  when  you  speak  to  the  contrary — don't 
you  call  the  curve  on  his  shoulders  the  line  of  beauty.  Come 
— come — you  know  I  only  want  to  make  you  happy." 

"  It  is  time,  papa,  that  I  should  withdraw,"  she  replied, 
rising. 

Reilly  rose  to  open  the  door. 

"Good-night,  papa — dear,  dear  papa,"  she  added,  putting 
her  snowy  arms  about  his  neck  and  kissing  him  tenderly. 
"I  know,"  she  added,  "that  the  great  object  of  your  life  is 
to  make  your  Coolccn  Baiun  happy — and  in  doing  so,  dear 
papa — there  now  is  another  kiss  for  you — a  little  bribe,  papa 
— in  doing  so,  consult  her  heart  as  well  as  your  own.  Good- 
night." 

"Good-night,  my  treasure.' 

During  this  little  scene  of  affectionate  tenderness  Reilly 


WILLY  REILLY.  *t 

Stood  holdirij:^  tiic  door  open,  and  as  she  was  going  out,  as  if 
recollecting  herself,  she  turned  to  him  and  said,  "  Pardon 
me,  Mr.  Reilly,  I  fear  you  must  think  me  ungrateful  ;  I 
have  not  yet  thanked  you  for  the  service — a  service  indeed 
so  important  that  no  language  could  find  expression  for  it 
— which  you  have  rendered  to  dear  papa,  and  to  me.  But, 
Mr.  Reilly,  I  pray  you  do  not  think  me  ungrateful,  or 
insensible,  for,  indeed,  I  am  neither.  Suffer  me  to  feel 
what  I  owe  you,  and  do  not  blame  me  if  I  cannot  express 
it." 

"  If  It  were  not  for  the  value  of  the  life  which  it  is  prob- 
able I  have  saved,  and  if  it  were  not  that  your  happiness 
was  so  deeply  involved  m  it,"  replied  Reill)^  "I  would  say 
that  you  overrate  what  I  have  done  this  evening.  But  I  con- 
fess I  am  myself  now  forced  to  see  the  value  of  my  services, 
and  I  thank  heaven  for  having  made  me  the  humble  instru- 
ment of  saving  your  father's  life,  not  only  for  his  own  sake. 
Miss  Folliard,  but  for  yours.  I  now  feel  a  double  debt  of 
gratitude  to  heaven  for  it." 

The  Cooleen  Bawn  did  not  speak,  but  the  tears  ran  down 
her  cheeks.  "Good-night,  sir,"  she  said.  "I  am  utterly 
incapable  of  thanking  you  as  you  deserve,  and  as  I  ought 
to  thank  you.     Good-night!" 

She  extended  her  small  snowy  hand  to  him  as  she  spoke. 
Reilly  took  it  in  his,  and  by  some  involuntary  impulse  he 
could  not  avoid  giving  it  a  certain  degree  of  pressure.  The 
fact  is,  it  was  such  a  hand — so  white — so  small — so  soft — so 
warm — so  provocative  of  a  squeeze — that  he  felt  his  own 
pressing  it,  he  knew  not  how  nor  wherefore,  at  least  he 
thought  so  at  the  time  ;  that  is  to  say,  if  he  were  capable  of 
thinkiwg  distinctly  of  anything.  But,  heaven  and  earth  I 
Was  it  true?  No  delusion  ?  No  dream  .''  The  pressure  re- 
turned !  the  slightest,  the  most  gentle,  the  most  delicate 
pressure — the  barely  perceptible  pressure !  Yes  !  it  was 
beyond  all  doubt ;  for  although  the  act  itself  was  light  as 
delicacy  and  modesty  could  make  it,  yet  the  spirit — the 
lightening  spirit — which  it  shot  into  his  bounding  and  enrap- 
tured heart  could  not  be  for  a  moment  mistaken. 

As  she  was  running  up  the  stairs  she  returned,  however, 
and  again  approaching  her  father,  said — whilst  Reilly  could 
observe  that  her  cheek  was  flushed  with  a  feeling  that  seemed 
to  resemble  ecstacy — "Papa,"  said  she,  "what  a  stupid  girl 
I  am  !     I  scarcely  know  what  I  am  saying  or  doing." 

"By  the  great  Boyne,"   replied  her  father  "I'll  describe 


52 


IVILL  Y  RE  ILL  Y. 


him  to  you  every  night  i-n  the  week.  I  knew  the  curve^ — the 
line  of  beauty — would  get  into  your  head  ;  but  what  is  it, 
darling?  " 

"  Will  you  and  Mr.  Reilly  have  tea  in  the  drawing  room, 
or  shall  I  send  it  down  to  you  !  " 

''  I  am  too  comfortable  in  my  easy  chair,  dear  Helen : 
no,  send  it  down." 

"  After  the  shock  you  have  received,  papa,  perhaps  you 
niiijht  wish  to  have  it  from  the  hand  of  your  own  Coolcen 
Baitm  ?  " 

As  the  old  man  turned  his  eyes  upon  her  they  literally 
danced  with  delight.  "  Ah,  Willy  !  "  said  he,  "  is  it  any  won- 
der I  should  lo#e  her?" 

"  I  have  often  heard,"  replied  Reilly,  "  that  it  is  impossi- 
ble to  know  her,  and  not  to  love  her.     I  now  believe  it." 

"  Thank  you,  Reilly ;  thank  you,  Willy ;  shake  hands. 
Come,  Helen,  shake  hands  with  him.  That's  a  compliment. 
Shake  hands  with  him,  darling.  There,  now,  that's  all  right. 
Yes,  my  love,  by  all  means,  come  down  and  give  us  tea 
here." 

Innocent  old  man — the  die  is  now  irrevocably  cast.  That 
mutual  pressure,  and  that  mutual  glance.  Alas !  alas !  how 
strange  and  incomprehensible  is  human  destiny  ! 

After  she  had  gone  up  stairs  the  old  man  said,  "  You  see, 
Willy,  how  my  heart  and  soul  are  in  that  angelic  creature. 
The  great  object,  the  great  delight  of  her  life,  is  to  anticipate 
all  my  wants,  to  study  whatever  is  agreeable  to  me — in  fact, 
to  make  me  happy.  And  she  succeeds.  Everything  she 
does  pleases  me.  By  the  grave  of  Schomberg,  she's  beyond 
all  price.  It  is  true  we  never  had  a  baronet  in  the  'amily, 
and  it  would  gratify  me  to  hear  her  called  Lady  Whitecraft ; 
still,  I  say,  I  don't  care  for  rank  or  ambition  ;  nor  would  I 
sacrifice  my  child's  happiness  to  either.  And,  between  you 
and  me,  if  she  declines  to  have  him,  she  shan't  have  him, 
that's  all  that's  to  be  said  about  it.  He's  quite  round  in  the 
shoulders ;  and  yet  so  inconsistent  are  women  that  she  calls 
a  protuberance  that  resembles  the  letter  C  the  line  cf  beauty. 
Then  again  he  bit  me  in  '  Hop-and-go-constant ; '  and  you 
know  yourself,  Willy,  that  no  person  likes  to  be  bit  especially 
by  the  man  he  intends  for  his  son-in-law.  If  he  gives  me 
the  biti'  before  marriage,  what  would  he  not  do  after  it?  " 

"This  sir,  is  a  subject,"  replied  Reilly,  "on  which  I 
must  decline  to  give  an  opinion  ;  but  I  think  that  no  father 
should  sacrifice  the  happiness  of  his  daughter  to  his  own  in- 


WILL  Y  KEILL  Y. 


53 


cHnations.  However,  setting  this  matter  aside,  I  have  some- 
thing of  deep  importance  to  mention  to  you." 

"To  mc  !     Good  heavens  !     What  is  it  ?  " 

"The  Red  Rapparee,  sir,  has  formed  a  plan  to  rob,  pos- 
sibly to  murder,  you,  and  what  is  worse — " 

"  Worse  !  Why,  what  the  deuce — worse  !  Why,  what 
could  be  worse  ?  " 

"  The  dishonor  of  your  daughter.  It  is  his  intention  to 
carry  her  off  to  the  mountains  ;  but  pardon  me,  I  cannot 
bear  to  dwell  upon  the  diabolical  project." 

The  old  man  fell  back,  pale,  and  almost  insensible,  in  his 
chair. 

"  Uo  not  be  alarmed,  sir,"  proceeded  Reilly,  "he  will  be 
disappointed.     I  have  taken  care  of  that." 

"  But,  Mr.  Reilly,  what — how — for  heaven's  sake  tell  me 
what  you  know  about  it.  Are  you  sure  of  this.?  How  did 
you  come  to  hear  of  it  ?  Tell  me — tell  me  everything  about 
it !  We  must  prepare  to  receive  the  villains — we  must  in- 
stantly get  assistance.  My  child — my  life — my  Helen,  to  fall 
into  the  hands  of  this  monster  !  " 

"Hear  me,  sir,"  said  Reilly,  "hear  me,  and  you  will 
perceive  that  I  have  taken  measures  to  frustrate  all  his 
designs,  and  to  have  him  a  prisoner  before  to-morrow's  sun 
arises." 

He  then  related  to  him  the  plan  laid  by  the  Red  Rap- 
paree, as  overheard  by  Tom  Steeple,  and  as  it  was  commu- 
nicated to  himself  by  the  same  individual  subsequently,  after 
which  he  proceeded  : 

"The  fact  is,  sir,  I  have  sent  the  poor  fool,  who  is  both 
faithful  and  trustworthy,  to  summon  here  forty  or  fifty  of 
my  laborers  and  tenants.  They  must  be  placed  in  the  out- 
houses, and  whatever  arms  and  ammunition  you  can  spare, 
in  addition  to  the  weapons  which  they  shall  bring  along  with 
them,  must  be  made  available.  I  sent  orders  that  they 
should  be  here  about  nine  o'cloclc.  I,  myself,  will  remain  in 
this  house,  and  you  may  rest  assured  that  your  life,  youi 
property,  and  your  child  shall  be  all  safe.  I  know  the 
strength  of  the  ruffian's  band  ;  it  only  consists  of  about 
twelve  men,  or  rather  twelve  devils,  but  he  and  they  will  find 
themselves  mistaken." 

Before  Miss  Folliard  came  down  to  make  tea,  Reilly  had 
summoned  the  servants,  and  given  them  instructions  as  to 
their  conduct  during  the  expected  attack.  Having  arranged 
this,  he  went  to  the  yard,  and  found  a  large  body  of  his  ten- 


54  WILLY  REILLY. 

ants  armed  with  such  rude  weapons  as  they  could  procure; 
for,  at  this  period,  it  was  a  felony  for  a  Roman  Catholic  to 
have  or  carry  arms  at  all.  The  old  squire,  however,  was  well 
provided  in  that  respect,  and,  accordingly,  such  as  could  be 
spared  from  the  house  were  distributed  among  them.  Mr. 
Folliard  himself  felt  his  spirit  animated  by  a  sense  of  the 
danger,  and  bustled  about  with  uncommon  energy  and 
activity,  considering  what  he  had  suffered  in  the  course  of 
the  evening.  At  all  events,  they  both  resolved  to  conceal 
the  matter  from  Helen  till  the  last  moment,  in  order  to  spare 
her  the  terror  and  alarm  which  she  must  necessarily  feel  on 
hearing  of  the  contemplated  violence.  At  tea,  however,  she 
could  not  avoid  observing  that  something  had  disturbed  her 
father,  who,  from  his  naturally  impetuous  character,  ejacu- 
lated, from  time  to  time,  "  The  bloodthirsty  scoundrel ! — 
murdering  ruffian  !  We  shall  hang  hinv,  though ;  we  can 
hang  him  for  the  conspiracy.  Would  the  fool's,  Tom 
Steeples',  evidence  be  taken,  do  you  think  ? " 

"  I  fear  not,  sir,"  replied  Reilly.  "  In  the  mean  time, 
don't  think  of  it,  don't  further  distress  yourself  about  it." 

"To  think  of  attacking  my  house,  though  ;  and  if  it  were 
only  I  myself  that — however,  we  are  prepared,  that's  one 
comfort ;  we  are  prepared,  and  let  them — hem  ! — Helen,  my 
darling,  now  that  we've  had  our  tea,  will  you  retire  to  your 
own  room.  I  wish  to  talk  to  Mr.  Reiily  here,  on  a  particu- 
lar and  important  subject,  in  which  you  yourself  are  deeply 
concerned.  Withdraw,  my  love,  but  don't  go  to  bed  until  I 
see  you  again." 

Helen  went  up  stairs  with  a  light  foot  and  a  bounding 
heart.  A  certain  hope,  like  a  dream  of  far  off  and  unex- 
pected happiness,  rushed  into  and  filled  her  bosom  with  a 
crowd  of  sensations  so  delicious  that,  on  reaching  her  own 
room,  she  felt  completely  overpowered  by  them,  and  was 
only  relieved  by  a  burst  of  tears.  There  was  now  but  one 
image  before  her  imagination,  but  one  image  impressed  upon 
her  pure  and  fervent  heart ;  that  image  was  the  first  that 
love  had  ever  stamped  there,  and  the  last  that  suffering,  sor- 
row, madness,  and  death  were  ever  able  to  tear  from  it. 

When  the  night  had  advanced  to  the  usual  hour  of  retir- 
ing to  rest,  it  was  deemed  necessary  to  make  Helen  ac- 
quainted with  the  meditated  outrage,  in  order  to  prevent  the 
consequences  of  a  nocturnal  alarm  for  which  she  might  be 
altogether  unprepared.  TJiis  was  accordingly  done,  and 
her  natural   terrors   were  soothed   and   combated  by  Reilly 


WILLY  REILLY. 


-^ 


and  her  father,  who  succeeded  in  reviving  her  courage,  and 
in  enablin5  her  to  contemplate  what  was  to  happen  with  tol- 
erable  composure. 

Until  about  the  hour  of  two  o'clock  everything  remained 
silent.  Nobody  went  to  bed — the  male  seivants  were  all 
prepared — the  females,  some  in  tears,  and  others  sustaining 
and  comforting  those  who  were  more  feeble-hearted.  Miss 
f'oUiard  was  in  her  own  room,  dressed.  At  about  half  past 
two  she  heard  a  stealthy  foot,  and  having  extinguished  the 
light  in  her  apartment,  with  great  presence  of  mind  bhe  rang 
the  bell,  whilst  ai  the  same  moment  her  door  was  broken  in, 
and  a  man,  as  she  knew  by  his  step,  entered.  In  the  mean 
time  the  house  was  alarmed  ;  the  man  having  hastily  pro 
jected  his  arms  about  in  several  directions,  as  if  searching 
for  her,  instantly  retreated,  a  scuffle  was  heard  outside  on  the 
lobby,  and  when  lights  and  assistance  appeared,  there  were 
found  eight  or  ten  men  variously  armed,  all  of  whom  proved 
to  be  a  portion  of  the  guard  selected  by  Reilly  to  protect  the 
house  and  family.  These  men  maintained  that  they  had 
seen  the  Red  Rapparee  on  the  roof  of  the  house,  through 
which  he  had  descended,  and  that  having  procured  a  ladder 
from  the  farmyard,  they  entered  a  back  window,  at  a  distance 
of  about  forty  feet  from  the  ground,  in  the  hope  of  securing 
his  person — that  they  came  in  contact  with  some  powerful 
man  in  the  dark,  who  disappeared  from  among  them— but  by 
what  means  he  had  contrived  to  escape  they  could  not  guess. 
This  was  the  substance  of  all  they  knew  or  understood  upon 
the  subject. 

The  whole  house  was  immediately  and  thoroughly 
searched,  and  no  trace  of  him  could  be  found  until  they 
came  to  the  skylight,  which  was  discovered  to  be  opened — 
wrenched  off  the  hinges — and  lying  on  the  roof  at  a  distance 
of  two  or  three  yards  from  its  place. 

It  soon  became  evident  that  the  Rapparee  and  his  party 
had  taken  the  alarm.  In  an  instant  those  who  were  outside 
awaiting  t  pounce  upon  them  in  the  moment  of  attack  got 
orders  to  scour  the  neighborhood,  and  if  possible  to  secure 
the  Rapparee  at  every  risk  ;  and  as  an  inducement  the  squire 
himself  offered  to  pay  the  sum  of  five  hundred  pounds  to 
anyone  who  should  bring  him  to  Corbo  Castle,*  which  was 
the  name  of  his  residence.  This  was  accordingly  attempted, 
the  country  far  and  wide  was  searched,  pursuit  given  in  everjf 

This  name  is  iSctiUous. 


^  WILLY  IK E ILLY. 

direction,  but  all  to  no  purpose.  Not  only  was  the  failure 
complete,  but,  what  was  still  more  unaccountable  and 
mysterious,  no  sing;le  m  .rk  cr  trace  of  them  could  be  found. 
This  escape,  however,  did  not  much  surprise  the  inhabitants 
of  the  country  at  large,  as  it  was  only  in  keeping  with  many 
of  a  far  more  difficult  character  which  the  Rapparee  had 
often  effected.  The  only  cause  to  which  it  could  be  ascribed 
was  the  supposed  fact  of  his  having  aken  such  admirable 
precautions  against  surprise  as  ena^^led  his  gang  to  disappear 
upon  a  preconcerted  plan  the  moment  the  friendly  guards 
were  discovered,  whilst  he  himself  daringly  attempted  to 
secure  the  squire's  cash  and  his  daughter. 

Whether  the  supposition  was  right  or  wrong  will  appear 
subsequently;  but,  in  the  mean  time,  we  may  add  here,  that 
the  event  in  question,  and  the  disappearance  of  the  burglars, 
was  fatal  to  the  happiness  of  our  lovers,  for  such  they  were 
in  the  tenderest  and  most  devoted  sense  of  that  strange  and 
ungovernable  passion. 

Early  the  next  morning  the  squire  was  so  completely  ex- 
hausted by  the  consequences  of  watching,  anxiety  and  want 
of  rest,  that  he  felt  himself  overcome  by  oleep,  and  was 
obliged  to  go  to  bed.  Before  he  went,  however,  he  made 
Reilly  promise  that  he  would  not  go  until  he  had  break- 
fasted, then  shook  him  cordially  by  the  hand,  thanked  him 
again  and  again  for  the  deep  and  important  obligations  he 
had  imposed  upon  him  and  his  child,  and  concluded  by  giv- 
ing him  a  general  invitation  to  his  house,  the  doors  of  which, 
he  said,  as  well  as  the  heart  of  its  owner,  should  be  ever 
ready  to  receive  him. 

"  As  for  Helen,  here,"  said  he,  "  I  leave  her  to  thank  you 
herself,  which  I  am  sure  she  will  do  in  a  manner  becoming 
the  services  you  have  rendered  her  before  you  go."  She 
then  kissed  him  tenderly,  and  he  retired  to  rest. 

At  breakfast,  Reilly  and  Miss  Folliard  were,  of  course, 
alone,  if  we  may  say  so.  Want  of  rest  and  apprehension 
had  given  a  cast  of  paleness  to  her  features  that,  so  far  from 
diminishing,  only  added  a  new  and  tender  character  to  her 
beauty.  Reilly  observed  the  exquisite  loveliness  of  her  hand 
as  she  poured  out  the  tea  ;  and  when  he  remembered  the 
gentle  but  significant  pressure  which  it  had  given  to  his, 
more  than  once  or  twice,  on  the  preceding  night,  he  felt  as 
if  he  experienced  a  personal  interest  in  her  fate — as  if  their 
destinies  were  to  be  united — as  if  his  growing  spirit  could 
enfold  hers,  and  mingle  with  it  forever.     The  love  he  felt  for 


tV/LL  V  KEII.L  Y. 


-n 


her  pervaded  and  softened  his  whole  being  with  such  a  feel- 
ing of  tenderness,  timidity,  and  ecstasy,  that  his  voice,  always 
manly  and  firm,  now  became  tremulous  in  its  tones  ;  such,  in 
truth,  as  is  always  occasioned  by  a  full  and  overflowing  heart 
when  it  trembles  at  the  very  opportunity  of  pouring  forth  the 
first  avowal  of  its  affection. 

''  Miss  Folliard,"  said  he,  after  a  pause,  and  with  some 
confusion,  "do  you  believe  in  Fate?" 

The  question  appeared  to  take  her  somewhat  by  surprise, 
if  one  could  judge  by  the  look  she  bestowed  upon  him  with 
her  dark,  flashing  eyes. 

"In  Fate,  Mr.  Reilly  ?  that  is  a  subject,  I  fear,  too  deep 
for  a  girl  like  me.     I  believe  in  Providence." 

"  All  this  morning  I  have  been  thinking  of  the  subject. 
Should  it  be  Fate  that  brought  tne  to  the  rescue  of  your 
father  last  night,  I  cannot  but  feel  glad  of  it ;  but  though  it 
be  a  Fate  that  has  preserved  him — and  I  thank  Almighty 
God  for  it — yet  it  is  one  that  I  fear  has  destroyed  my  happi- 
ness." 

"  Destroyed  your  happiness,  Mr.  Reilly  ?  why,  how  could 
the  service  you  rendered  papa  last  night  have  such  an 
effect?" 

"  I  will  be  candid,  and  tell  you,  Miss  Folliard.  I  know 
that  what  I  am  about  to  say  will  offend  you — it  was  by  mak- 
ing me  acquainted  with  his  daughter,  and  bringing  me  under 
influence  of  beauty  which  has  unmanned — distracted  me — 
beauty  which  I  could  not  resist — which  has  overcome — sub- 
dued me — and  which,  because  it  is  beyond  my  reach  and  my 
de:erts,  will  occasion  me  an  unhappy  life^ — how  long  soever 
that  life  may  last." 

"Mr.  Reilly,"  exclaimed  the  Cooken Bawn^  "this — this — 
is — I  am  quite  unprepared  for — I  mean — to  hear  that  such 
noble  and  generous  conduct  to  my  father  should  end  in  this. 
But  it  cannot  be.  Nay,  I  will  not  pretend  to  misunderstand 
you.  After  the  service  you  have  rendered  to  him  and  to  my- 
self, it  would  be  uncandid  in  me  and  unworthy  of  you  to 
conceal  the  distress  which  your  words  have  caused  me." 

"lam  scarcely  in  a  condition  to  speak  reasonably  and 
calmly,"  replied  Reilly,  "but  I  cannot  regret  that  I  have 
unconsciously  sacrificed  my  happiness,  when  that  sacrifice 
has  saved  you  from  distress  and  grief  and  sorrow.  Now 
that  I  know  you,  I  would  offer — lay  down — my  life,  if  the 
sacrifice  would  save  yours  from  one  moment's  care.  I  have 
often  heard  uf  wiiat  love — love   in  its  highest  and   noblest 


gS  WILLY  REILLY. 

sense — is  able  to  do  and  to  suffer  for  the  good  and  happi- 
ness of  its  object,  but  now  I  know  it." 

She  spoke  not,  or  rather  she  was  unable  to  speak  ;  but  as 
she  pulled  our  her  snow-white  handkerchief,  Reilly  could 
observe  the  extraordinary  tremor  of  her  hands  ;  the  face,  too, 
was  deadly  pale. 

"  I  ani'not  making  love  to  you,  Miss  Folliard,"  he  added^ 
"  No,  my  religion,  my  position  in  life,  a  sense  of  my  own  un- 
worthiness,  would  prevent  that  ;  but  I  could  not  rest  unless 
you  knew  that  tliere  is  one  heart  which,  in  the  midst  of  un- 
happiness  and  despair,  can  understand,  appreciate,  and  love 
you.     I  urge  no  claim.     I  am  without  hope." 

The  fair  girl  {Cooleen  Bazvn)  could  not  restrain  her  tears  ; 
but  wept — yes,  she  wept.  "  I  was  not  prepared  for  this,'* 
she  replied.  "  1  did  not  think  that  so  short  an  acquaintance 
could  have — Oh,  I  know  not  what  to  say — nor  how  to  act. 
My  father's  prejudices.     You  are  a  Catholic." 

"  And  will  die  one.  Miss  Folliard." 

"  But  why  should  you  be  unhappy  ?  You  do  not  deserve 
to  be  so." 

"  That  is  precisely  what  made  me  ask  you  just  now  if  you 
believed  \nfate.'''' 

"  Oh,  I  know  not.  I  cannot  answer  such  a  question  ;  but 
why  should  you  be  unhappy,  with  your  brave,  generous,  and 
noble  heart  ?    Sure))',  surely,  you  do  not  deserve  it." 

"  I  said  before  that  I  have  no  hope.  Miss  Folliard.  I  shall 
carry  with  me  my  love  of  you  through  life  ;  it  is  my  first,  and 
I  feel  it  will  be  my  last — it  will  be  the  melancholy  light  that 
will  burn  in  the  sepulchre  of  my  heart  to  show  your  image 
there.  And  now,  Miss  Folliard,  I  will  bid  you  farewell. 
Your  father  has  proffered  me  hospitality,  but  I  have  not 
strength  nor  resolution  to  accept  it.  You  now  know  my 
secret — a  hopeless  passion." 

"  Reilly,"  she  replied,  weeping  bitterly,  "  our  acquaintance 
has  been  short — we  have  not  seen  much  of  each  other,  yet  I 
will  not  deny  that  I  believe  you  to  be  all  that  any  female 
heart  could — pardon  me,  I  am  without  experience — I  know 
not  much  of  the  world.  You  have  travelled,  papa  told  me 
last  night ;  I  do  not  wish  that  you  should  be  unhappy,  and, 
least  of  all,  that  I,  who  owe  you  so  much,  should  be  the 
occasion  of  it.  No,  you  talk  of  a  hopeless  passion.  I  know 
not  what  I  ought  to  say — but  to  the  preserver  of  my  father's 
life,  and,  probably  my  own  honor,  I  will  say,  be  not — but  why 
should  love  be  separated  from  truth  ? "  she  said — "  No,  Reilly, 
be  ti0t  hopeless." 


WILL  V  RETL  LV.  59 

"Oh,"'  replied  Reilly,  who  had  gone  over  near  her,  "but 
my  soul  will  not  be  satisfied  without  a  stronger  affirmation. 
This  moment  is  the  great  crisis  of  my  life  and  happiness.  I 
love  you  beyond  all  the  power  of  language  or  expression. 
You  tremble,  dear  Miss  Folliard,  and  you  weep  ;  let  me  wipe 
those  precious  tears  away.  Oh,  would  to  God  that  you  loved 
me  ! " 

He  caught  her  hand — it  was  not  withdrawn — he  pressed 
it  as  he  had  done  the  evening  before.  The  pressure  was 
returned — his  voice  melted  into  tenderness  that  was  conta- 
gious and  irresistible:  "Say,  dearest  Helen,  star  of  my  life 
and  of  my  fate,  oh,  only  say  that  I  am  not  indifferent  to 
you." 

They  were  both  standing  near  the  chimney-piece  as  he 
spoke — "  only  say,"  he  repeated,  "  that  I  am  not  indifferent 
to  you." 

"Well,  then,"  she  replied,  "you  are  not  indifferent  to 
me." 

"  One  admission  more,  my  dearest  life,  and  I  am  happy 
forever.  You  love  me  ?  say  it,  dearest,  say  it — or,  stay, 
whisper  it,  whisper  it — you  love  me  !  " 

"I  do,"  she  whispered  in  a  burst  of  tears. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A  SAPIENT    PROJECT  FOR   OUR  HERo's    CONVERSION — HIS    RIVAL 
MAKES    HIS  APPEARANCE,  AND    ITS    CONSEQUENCES. 

We  will  not  attempt  to  describe  the  tumult  of  delight 
which  agitated  Reilly's  heart  on  his  way  home,  after  this 
tender  interview  with  the  most  celebrated  Irish  l^eauty  of 
that  period.  The  term  Coolecn  Binvji,  in  native  Irish,  has 
two  meanings,  both  of  which  were  justly  applied  to  her,  and 
met  in  her  person.  It  signifies  fair  locks,  or,  as  it  may  be 
pronounced  fair  girl ;  and  in  either  sense  is  peculiarly  ap- 
plicable to  a  blonde  beauty,  which  she  was.  The  name  of 
Cooleen  Bawn  was  applied  to  her  by  the  populace,  whose 
talent  for  finding  out  and  bestowing  epithets  indicative  either 
of  personal  beauty  or  deformity,  or  of  the  qualities  of  the 
xnind  or  character,  be  they  good  or  evil,  is,  in  Ireland,  sin- 


6o  ^^L  L  V  REILL  Y. 

gularly  felicitous.  In  the  higher  ranks,  however,  she  was 
known  as  "The  Lily  of  the  Plains  of  Bo}ne,"  and  as  such 
she  was  toasted  by  all  parties,  not  only  in  her  own  native 
county,  but  throughout  Ireland,  and  at  the  viceregal  enter- 
tainments in  the  Castle  of  Dublin.  At  the  time  of  which  we 
write,  the  penal  laws  were  in  operation  against  the  Roman 
Catholic  population  of  the  country,  and  her  father,  a  good- 
hearted  man  by  nature,  was  worldly  and  violent  by  prejudice, 
and  yet  secretly  kind  and  friendly  to  many  of  that  unhappy 
creed, though  by  no  means  to  all.  It  was  well  known,  how- 
ever, thtat  in  everything  that  was  generous  and  good  in  his 
character,  or  in  the  discharge  of  his  public  duties  as  a  ma- 
gistrate, he  was  chiefly  influenced  by  the  benevolent  and 
liberal  principles  of  his  daughter,  who  was  a  general  advocate 
for  the  oppressed,  and  to  whom,  moreover,  he  could  deny 
nothing.  This  accounted  for  her  popularity,  as  it  does  for 
the  extraordinary  veneration  and  affection  with  which  her 
name  and  misfortunes  are  mentioned  down  to  the  present 
day.  The  worst  point  in  her  father's  character  was  that  he 
never  could  be  prevailed  on  to  forgive  an  injury,  or,  at  least, 
any  act  that  he  conceived  to  be  such,  a  weakness  or  a  vice 
which  was  the  means  of  all  his  angelic  and  lovely  daughter's 
calamities. 

Reilly,  though  full  of  fervor  and  enthusiasm,  was  yet  by 
no  means  deficient  in  strong  sense.  On  his  way  home  he 
began  to  ask  himself  in  what  this  overwhelming  passion  for 
Cooleen  Bawti  must  end.  His  religion,  he  was  well  aware, 
placed  an  impassable  gulf  between  them.  Was  it  then  gen- 
erous or  honorable  in  him  to  abuse  the  confidence  and  hos- 
pitality of  her  father,  by  engaging  the  affections  of  a  daugh- 
ter, on  whose  welfare  his  whole  happiness  was  placed,  and 
to  whom,  moreover,  he  could  not  without  committing  an  act 
of  apostasy  that  he  abhorred,  ever  be  united  as  a  husband  ? 
Reason  and  prudence,  moreover,  suggested  to  him  the  danger 
of  his  position,  as  well  as  the  ungenerous  nature  of  his  conduct 
to  the  grateful  and  trusting  father.  But,  away  with  reason 
and  prudence — away  with  everything  but  love.  The  rapture 
of  his  heart  triumphed  over  every  argument  ;  and,  come  weal 
or  woe,  he  resolved  to  win  the  far-famed  "  Star  of  Con  naught," 
another  epithet  which  she  derived  from  her  wonderful  and 
extraordinary  beauty. 

On  approaching  his  own  house  he  met  a  woman  named 
Mary  Mahon,  whose  character  of  a  fortune-teller  was  extraor- 
dinary in    the  country,  -^nd   whose   predictions,  come  from 


WILLY  REILLY.  tJf 

what  source  they  might,  had  gained  her  a  reputatien  wh!eh 
filled  the  common  mind  with  awe  and  fear. 

"Well,  Mary,"  said  he,  "  what  news  from  futurity?  And, 
by  the  way,  where  is  futurity  ?  Because  if  you  don't  know," 
he  proceeded,  laughing,  "  I  think  1  could  tell  you." 

"Well,"  replied  Mary,  "  let  me  hear  it.  Where  is  it,  Mr. 
Reilly?" 

"Why,"  he  replied,  "just  at  the  point  of  your  own  nose, 
Mary,  and  you  must  admit  it  is  not  a  very  long  one  ;  pure 
Milesian,  Mary  ;  a  good  deal  of  the  saddle  in  its  shape." 

The  woman  stood  and  looked  at  him  for  a  few  moments. 

"  Mv  nose  may  be  short,"  she  replied,  "but  shorter  will 
be  the  course  of  your  happiness." 

"Well,  Mary,"  he  said,  "  I  think  as  regards  my  happiness 
that  you  know  as  little  of  it  as  I  do  myself.  If  you  tell  me 
anything  that  has  passed,  I  may  give  you  some  credit  for  the 
future,  but  not  otherwise." 

■  Do  you  wish  to  have  your  fortune  tould,  then,"  she  asked, 
"  upon  them  terms  ?  " 

"  Come,  then,  I  don't  care  if  I  do.  What  has  happened 
me,  for  instance,  within  the  last  forty-eight  hours  ? " 

"  That  has  happened  you  within  the  last  forty-eight  hours 
that  will  make  her  you  love  the  pity  of  the  world  before  her 
time.  I  see  how  it  will  happen,  for  the  complaint  I  speak  of 
is  in  the  family.  A  living  death  she  will  have,  and  you  your- 
self during  the  same  time  will  have  little  less." 

"  But  what  has  happened  me,  Mary  ?  " 

"  I  needn't  tell  you — you  know  it.  A  proud  heart,  and  a 
joyful  heart,  and  a  lovin'  heart,  you  carry  now,  but  it  will  be 
a  broken  heart  before  long." 

"  Why,  Mary,  this  is  an  evil  prophecy ;  have  you  nothing 
good  to  foretell  ?  " 

"  If  it's  a  satisfaction  to  you  to  know,  I  will  tell  you  :  her 
love  for  you  is  as  strong,  and  stronger,  than  death  itself;  and 
it  is  the  suffering  of  what  is  worse  than  death,  Willy  Reilly, 
that  will  unite  you  both  at  last." 

Reilly  started,  and  after  a  pause,  in  which  he  took  it  for 
granted  that  Mary  spoke  merely  from  one  of  those  shrewd 
conjectures  which  practised  impostors  are  so  frequently  in  the 
habit  of  hazarding,  replied,  "That  won't  do,  Mary;  you  have 
told  me  nothing  yet  that  has  happened  within  tlie  last  forty- 
eight  hours.     I  deny  the  truth  of  what  you  say." 

"  I  won't  be  long  so,  then  Mr.  Reilly  ;  you  saved  the  life 
of  the  old  half-mad  squire  of  Corbo.     Yes,  you  saved  his  life^ 


62  WILL  V  REILL  Y. 

and  you  have  taken  his  daughter's  !  for  indeed  it  would  b« 
better  for  her  to  die  at  wanst  than  to  suffer  what  will  happen 
to  you  and  her." 

"  Why,  what  is  to  happen  ?  " 

"You'll  know  it  too  soon,"  she  replied,  "and  there's  no 
use  in  making  you  unhappy.  Good-by,  Mr.  Reilly ;  if  you 
take  a  friend's  advice  you'll  give  her  up ;  think  no  more  of 
her.  It  may  cost  you  an  aching  heart  to  do  so,  but  by  doin' 
it  you  may  save  her  from  a  great  deal  of  sorrow,  and  both  of 
you  from  a  long  and  heavy  term  of  suffering." 

Reill}',  though  a  young  man  of  strong  reason  in  the  ordi- 
nary affairs  of  life,  and  of  a  highly  cultivated  intellect  besides, 
vet  felt  himself  influenced  by  the  gloomy  forebodings  of  this 
notorious  woman.  It  is  true  he  saw,  by  the  force  of  his  own 
sagacity,  that  she  had  uttered  nothing  which  any  person  ac- 
quainted with  the  relative  position  of  himself  and  Coolleen 
Bawn,  and  the  political  circumstances  of  the  country,  might 
not  have  inferred  as  a  natural  and  probable  consequence.  In 
fact  he  had,  on  his  way  home;  arrived  at  nearly  the  same  con- 
clusion. Marriage,  as  the  laws  of  the  country  then  stood, 
was  out  of  the  question,  and  could  not  be  legitimately  effected. 
What,  then,  must  the  consequence  of  this  irresistible  but  ill- 
fated  passion  be.!"  An  elopement  to  the  Continent  would  not 
only  be  difficult  but  dangerous,  if  not  altogether  impossible. 
It  was  obviously  evident  that  Mary  Mahon  had  drawn  her 
predictions  from  the  same  circumstances  which  led  himself  to 
similar  conclusions  ;  yet,  notwithstanding  all  this,  he  felt  that 
her  words  had  thrown  a  foreshadowing  of  calamity  and  sor- 
row over  his  spirit,  and  he  passed  up  to  his  own  house  in  deep 
gloom  and  heaviness  of  heart.  It  is  true  he  remembered  that 
this  same  Mary  Mahon  belonged  to  a  family  that  had  been 
inimical  to  his  house.  She  was  a  woman  who  had,  in  her 
early  life,  been  degraded  by  crime,  the  remembrance  of  which 
had  been  by  no  means  forgotten.  She  was,  besides,  a  para- 
mour to  the  Red  Rapparee,  and  he  attributed  much  of  her 
dark  and  ill-boding  prophecy  to  a  hostile  and  malignant  spirit. 

On  the  evening  of  the  same  day,  probably  about  the  same 
hour,  the  old  squire  having  recruited  himself  by  sleep,  and 
felt  refreshed  and  invigorated,  sent  for  his  daughter  to  sit 
with  him  as  was  ber  wont ;  for  indeed,  as  the  reader  may  now 
fully  understand,  his  happiness  altogether  depended  upon  her 
society,  and  those  tender  attentions  to  him  which  constituted 
the  chief  solace  of  his  life. 

"Well,  my  girl,"  said  he,  when  she  entered  the  dining* 


WILLY  REILLY. 


63 


room,  for  he  seldoni  left  it  unless  when  they  had  company, 
"Well,  darling,  what  do  you  think  of  this  Mr.  Mahon — pooh  I 
— no — oh,  Reilly — he  who  saved  my  life,  and,  probably,  was 
the  means  of  rescuing  you  from  worse  than  death.  Isn't  he 
a  fine — a  noble  young  fellow.-*  " 

"Indeed,  I  think  so,  papa ;  he  appears  to  be  a  perfect 
gentleman." 

"  Hang  perfect  gentlemen,  Helen  !  they  are,  some  of  them, 
the  most  contemptible  whelps  upon  earth.  Hang  me,  but  any 
fellow  with  a  long-bodied  coat,  tight-kneed  breeches,  or  stock- 
ings and  pantaloons,  with  a  watch  in  eJich  fob,  and  a  frizzled 
wig,  is  considered  a  perfect  gentleman — a  perfect  puppy, 
Helen,  an  accomplished  trifle.  Reilly,  however,  is  none  of 
these,  for  he  is  not  only  a  perfect  gentleman,  but  a  brave  man, 
who  would  not  hesitate  to  risk  his  life  in  order  to  save  that  of 
a  fellow-creature,  even  although  he  is  a  Papist,  and  that  fel- 
low-creature a  Protestant." 

"  Well,  then,  papa,  I  grant  you,"  she  replied  with  a  smile, 
which  our  readers  will  understand,  "  I  grant  you  that  he  is  a 
— ahem  ! — all  you  say." 

"What  a  pity,  Helen,  that  he  is  a  Papist." 
"  Why  so,  papa  ? " 

"Because,  if  he  was  a  staunch  Protestant,  by  the  great 
Deliverer  that  saved  us  from  brass  money,  wooden  shoes,  and 
so  forth,  I'd  marry  you  and  him  together.  I'll  tell  you  what, 
Helen,  by  the  memory  of  Schomberg,  I  have  a  project,  and  it 
is  you  that  must  work  it  out." 

"  Well,  papa,"  asked  his  daughter,  putting  the  question 
with  a  smile  and  a  blush,  "pray  what  is  this  speculation?" 

"Why,  the  fact  is,  I'll  put  him  into  your  hands  to  convert 
him — make  him  a  staunch  Protestant,  and  take  him  for  your 
pains.  Accomplish  this,  and  let  long-legged,  knock-kneed 
Whitecraft,  and  his  twelve  thousand  a  year,  go  and  bite  some 
other  fool  as  he  bit  me  in  '  Hop-and-go-constant.'  " 

"What  are  twelve  thousand  a  year,  papa,  when  you  know 
that  they  could  not  secure  me  happiness  with  such  a  wretch  ? 
Such  a  union,  sir,  could  not  be — cannot  be — must  not  be,  and 
I  will  add,  whilst  I  am  in  the  possession  of  will  and  reason, 
shall  not  be." 

"Well,  Helen,"  said  her  father,  "if  you  are  obstinate,  so 
am  I  ;  but  I  trust  we  shall  nover  have  to  fight  for  it.  We 
must  have  Reilly  here,  and  you  must  endeavor  to  convert  him 
from  Popery.  If  you  succeed,  I'll  give  long-shanks  his  nunc 
dimitiis.  and  send  him  home  on  a  trot." 


64  WJLLY  REILLY. 

"  Papa,"  she  replied,  "this  will  be  useless — it  will  be  ruin 
■ — I  know  Reilly." 

"  The  devil  you  do!  When,  may  I  ask,  did  you  become 
acquainted?  " 

••  I  mean,"  she  replied,  blushing,  "  that  I  have  seen  enough 
of  him  during  his  short  stay  here  to  feel  satisfied  that  no 
earthly  persuasion,  no  argument,  could  induce  him,  at  this 
moment  especially,  to  change  his  religion.  And,  sir,  I  will 
add  myself — yes,  1  will  say  for  myself,  dear  papa,  and  for 
Reilly,  too,  that  if  from  any  unbecoming  motive — if  for  the 
sake  of  love  itself,  I  felt  satisfied  that  he  could  give  up  and 
abandon  his  religion,  I  would  despise  him.  I  should  feel 
at  once  that  his  heart  was  hollow, and  that  he  was  unworthy 
either  of  my  love  or  my  respect." 

"  Well,  by  the  great  Boyne,  Helen,  you  have  knocked  my 
intellects  up.  I  hope  in  God  you  have  no  Papist  predilec- 
tions, girl.  However,  its  only  fair  to  give  Reilly  a  trial;  long- 
legs  is  to  dine  with  us  the  day  after  to-morrow — now,  I  will 
ask  Reilly  to  meet  him  here — perhaps,  if  I  get  an  opportu- 
nity, I  will  sound  him  on  the  point  myself — or,  perhaps,  you 
will.  Will  you  promise  to  make  the  attempt?  I'll  take  care 
that  you  and  he  shall  have  an  opportunity." 

"  indeed,  papa,  I  shall  certainly  mention  the  subjec  t  to 
him." 

"  By  the  soul  of  Schomberg,  Helen,  if  you  do  you'll  con- 
vert him." 

Helen  was  about  to  make  some  good-natured  reply  when 
the  noise  of  carriage  wheels  were  heard  at  the  hall-door,  and 
her  father  going  to  the  window,  asked,  "What  noise  is  that? 
A  carriage! — who  can  it  be?  Whitecraft,  by  the  Boyne! 
Well,  it  can't  be  helped." 

"  I  v\ill  leave  you,  papa,"  she  said;  "  I  do  not  wish  to 
see  this  unfeeling  and  repulsive  man,  unless  when  it  is  un- 
avoidable, and  in  your  presence." 

She  then  withdrew. 

Before  we  introduce  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  we  must  beg 
our  readers  to  accompany  us  to  the  residence  of  that  worthy 
gentleman,  which  was  not  more  than  three  miles  from  that  of 
Reilly.  Sir  Robert  had  large  estates  and  a  sumptuous  resi- 
dence in  Ireland,  as  well  as  in  Englaud,  and  had  made  the 
former  piincipally  his  place  of  abode  since  he  became  enam- 
oured of  the  celebrated  CoolUen  Bawn.  On  the  occasion  in 
question  he  was  walking  about  through  the  grounds  when  a 
female  approached  him,  whom  we  beg  the  reader  to  recognize 


WILLY  REILLY.  t^ 

as  Mary  Mahon,  This  mischievous  woman,  iHiplacablft  and 
without  principle,  had,  with  the  utmost  secrecy,  served  Sir 
Robert,  and  many  others,  in  a  capacity  discreditable  alike  to 
virtue  and  her  sex,  by  luring  the  weak  or  the  innocent  within 
their  foils. 

"  Well,  Mary,"  said  he,  "  what  news  in  the  country  ?  You, 
who  are  always  on  the  move,  should  know." 

"No  very  good  news  for  you,  Sir  Robert,"  she  replied. 

"How  is  that,  Mary?" 

"  Why,  sir,  Willy  Reilly — the  famous  Willy  Reilly — has  got 
a  footing  in  the  house  of  old  Squire  FoUiard." 

"  And  how  can  that  be  bad  news  to  me,  Mary  ? " 

"Well,  I  don't  know,"  said  she,  with  a  cunning  leer;  "but 
this  I  know,  that  they  had  a  love  scene  together  this  very 
morning,  and  that  he  kissed  her  very  sweetly  near  the  chim- 
ney-piece." 

Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  did  not  get  into  a  rage  ;  he  neither 
cursed  nor  swore,  nor  even  looked  angrily,  but  he  gave  a  pe- 
culiar smile,  which  should  be  seen  in  order  to  be  understood. 
"Where  is  your — ahem — your  friend  now.''"he  asked;  and 
as  he  did  so  he  began  to  whistle. 

"  Have  you  another  job  for  him  ?  "  she  inquired,  in  her 
turn,  with  a  peculiar  meaning.  "  Whenever  I  fail  by  fair  play, 
he  tries  it  by  foul." 

"  Well,  and  have  I  not  often  saved  his  neck,  as  well  by 
my  influence  as  by  allowing  him  to  take  shelter  under  my 
roof  whenever  he  was  hard  pressed  ? " 

"  I  know  that,  your  honor  ;  and  hasn't  he  and  I  often 
sarved  you,  on  the  other  hand.-*  " 

"  I  grant  it,  Molly  ;  but  that  is  a  matter  known  only  to 
ourselves.  You  know  I  have  the  reputation  of  being  very 
correct  and  virtuous." 

"  I  know  you  have,"  said  Molly,  "  with  most  people,  but 
not  with  all." 

"  Well,  Molly,  you  know,  as  far  as  we  are  concerned,  one 
good  turn  deserves  another.  Where  is  your  friend  now,  I  ask 
again  ? " 

"  Why,  then,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  it's  more  than  I  know 
at  the  present  speaking." 

"  Follow  me,  then,"  replied  the  wily  baronet  ;  "  I  wish 
you  to  see  him  ;  he  is  now  concealed  in  my  house  ;  but  first, 
mark  me, I  don't  believe  a  word  of  what  you  have  just  repeated." 

"It's  as  true  as  Gospel  for  all  that,"  she  replied;  "and 
if  you  wish  to  hear  how  _  found  it  out,  I'll  tell  you." 


66  W2LL  Y  RE  ILL  V 

"  Well,"  said  the  baronet  calralo,  "  let  us  hear  it." 

"You  must  know,"  she  proceeded,  "that  I  have  a  cousin, 
one  Betty  Beatty,  who  is  a  housemaid  in  the  squire's.  Now, 
this  same  Betty  Beatty  was  in  the  front  parlor — for  the  squire 
always  dines  in  the  back — and,  from  a  kind  of  natural  curios- 
ity sl'ie's  afflicted  with,  she  puts  her  ear  to  the  keyhole,  and 
afterwards  her  eye.  I  happened  to  be  at  the  squire's  at  the 
time,  and  as  blood  is  thicker  than  wather,  and  as  she  knew  I 
was  a  friend  of  yours,  she  tould  me  what  she  had  both  heard 
and  seen,  what  they  said,  and  how  he  kissed  her." 

Sir  Robert  seemed  very  calm,  and  merely  said,  "  Follow 
me  into  the  house,"  which  she  accordingly  did,  and  remained 
in  consultation  with  him  and  the  Red  Rapparee  for  nearly 
an  hour,  after  which  Sir  Robert  ordered  his  carriage,  and 
went  to  pay  a  visit,  as  we  have  seen,  at  Corbo  Castle. 

Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  on  entering  the  parlor,  shook  hands 
as  a  matter  of  course  with  the  squire.  At  this  particular  crisis 
the  vehement  but  whimsical  old  man,  whose  mind  was  now 
full  of  another  project  with  reference  to  his  daughter,  ex- 
perienced no  great  gratification  from  this  visit,  and,  as  the 
baronet  shook  hands  with  him,  he  exclaimed  somewhat 
testily, 

"  Hang  it,  Sir  Robert,  why  don't  you  shake  hands  like  a 
man  ?  You  put  that  long  yellow  paw  of  yours,  all  skin  and 
bones,  into  a  man's  hand,  and  there  you  let  it  lie.  But,  no 
matter,  every  one  to  his  nature.  Be  seated,  and  tell  me  what 
news.     Are  the  Papists  quiet  ?  " 

"  There  is  little  news  stirring,  sir  ;  at  least  if  there  be,  it 
does  not  come  my  wa}^  with  the  exception  of  this  report  about 
yourself,  which  I  hope  is  not  true  ;  that  there  was  an  attempt 
made  on  your  life  yesterday  evening?"  Whilst  Sir  Robert 
spoke  he  approached  a  looking-glass,  before  which  he  pre- 
sented himself,  and  commenced  adjusting  his  dress,  especially 
his  wig,  a  piece  of  vanity  which  nettled  the  quick  and  irritable 
feelings  of  the  squire  exceedingly.  The  inference  he  drew 
was,  that  this  wealthy  suitor  of  his  daughter  felt  more  about 
his  own  personal  appearance  before  her  than  about  the  dread- 
ful fate  which  he  himself  had  so  narrowly  escaped. 

"  What  signifies  that,  my  dear  fellow,  when  your  wig  is 
out  of  balance  ?  it's  a  little  to  the  one  side,  like  the  ear  of  an 
empty  jug,  as  they  say." 

"  Wliy,  sir,"  replied  the  baronet,  "  the  fact  is,  that  I  felt — 
hum  ! — hum  ! — so  much — so  much — a — anxiety — hum  !— to 
see  you  and — a — a — to  know  all  about  it — that — a — 1  didn't 


IV/LLV  REILLY.  ^*^ 

take  lime  tu — a — look  lo  my  dress.  And  besides,  as  I — hum  ! 
— expect  to  have — a — the  pleasure  of  an  interview  with  Miss 
Folliard — a — hum  ! — now  that  I'm  here — I  feel  anxious  to 
appear  to  the  best  advantage — a — huiu  !  " 

While  speaking  he  proceeded  with  the  re-adjustment  of 
his  toilet  at  the  large  mirror,  an  operation  which  appeared  to 
constitute  the  grea^  object  on  which  his  mind  was  engaged, 
the  affair  of  the  squire's  life  or  death  coming  in  only  paren- 
thetically, or  as  a  consideration  of  minor  importance. 

In  height  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  was  fully  six  feet  two  ; 
but  being  extremely  thin  and  lank,  and  to  all  appearance 
utterly  devoid  of  substance,  and  of  everything  like  proportion, 
he  appeared  much  taller  than  even  nature  had  made  him. 
His  forehead  was  low,  and  his  whole  character  felonious  ;  his 
eyes  were  small,  deep  set,  and  cunning,  his  nose  was  hooked, 
his  mouth  was  wide,  but  his  lips  thin  to  a  miracle,  and  such 
as  always  are  to  be  found  under  the  nose  of  a  miser  ;  as  for 
a  chin,  we  could  not  conscientiously  allow  him  any  ;  his  under- 
lip  sloped  off  until  it  met  the  throat  with  a  curve  not  larger 
than  that  of  an  oyster-shell,  which  when  open  to  the  tide,  his 
mouth  very  much  resembled.  As  for  his  neck,  it  was  so  long 
that  no  portion  of  dress  at  that  time  discovered  was  capable 
of  covering  more  than  one-third  of  it ;  to  that  there  were  al- 
ways two  parts  out  of  three  left  stark  naked,  and  helplessly 
exposed  to  the  elements.  Whenever  he  smiled  he  looked  as 
if  he  was  about  to  weep.  As  the  squire  said,  he  was  dread- 
fully round-shouldered — had  dangling  arms,  that  kept  flapping 
about  him  as  if  they  were  moved  by  some  machinery  that  had 
gone  out  of  order — was  close-kneed — had  the  true  telescopic 
leg — and  feet  that  brought  a  very  large  portion  of  him  into 
the  closest  possible  contact  with  the  earth. 

''  Are  you  succeeding.  Sir  Robert?"  inquired  the  old  man 
sarcastically,  "  because,  if  you  are,  I  swear  you're  achieving 
wonders,  considering  the  slight  materials  you  have  to  work 
upon." 

"Ah  !  sir,"  replied  the  baronet,  "  I  perceive  you  are  in  one 
of  your  biting  humors  to-day." 

"Biting!"  exclaimed  the  other.  "Egad,  it's  very  well 
for  most  of  your  sporting  acquaintances  that  you're  free  from 
hydrophobia  ;  if  you  were  not,  I'd  have  died  pleasantly  be- 
tween two  feather  beds,  leaving  my  child  an  orphan  long 
before  this.     Egad,  you  bit  me  to  some  purpose." 

"  Oh,  ay,  you  allude  to  the  affair  of  '  Hop-and-go-constant ' 
and  '  Pat  the  Spanker  ; '  but  you  know,  my  dear  sir,  I  gave 


68  W^LL  V  REILL  y. 

you  heavy  boot ; "  and  as  he  spoke,  he  pulled  up  the  lapels 
of  his  coat,  and  glanced  complacently  at  the  profile  of  his 
face  and  person  in  the  glass. 

"  Pray,  is  Miss  Folliard  at  home,  sir  ?  " 

"  Again  I'm  forgotten,"  thought  the  squire.  "  Ah,  what 
an  affectionate  son-in-law  he'd  make  !  What  a  tender  hus- 
band for  Helen  !  Why,  hang  the  fellow,  he  has  a  heart  for 
nobody  but  himself.  She  ts  at  home.  Sir  Robert,  but  the 
truth  is,  I  don't  think  it  would  become  me,  as  a  father  anxious 
for  the  happiness  of  his  child,  and  that  child  an  only  one,  to 
sacrifice  her  happiness — the  happiness  of  her  whole  life — to 
wealth  or  ambition.  You  know  she  herself  entertains  a  strong 
prejudice — no,  that's  not  the  word — " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir  ;  that  is  the  word  ;  her  distaste  to 
me  is  a  prejudice,  and  nothing  else." 

"  No,  Sir  Robert ;  it  is  not  the  word.  Antipathy  is  the 
word.  Now  I  tell  you,  once  for  all,  that  I  will  not  force  my 
child." 

"  This  change,  Mr.  Folliard,"  observed  the  baronet,  "  is 
somewhat  of  the  suddenest.  Has  anything  occurred  on  my 
part  to  occasion  it  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  I  may  have  other  views  for  her.  Sir  Robert." 

"  That  may  be  ;  but  is  such  conduct  either  fair  or  honorable 
towards  me,  Mr.  Folliard  ?  Have  I  got  a  rival,  and  if  so,  who 
is  he  > " 

"  Oh,  I  wouldn't  tell  you  that  for  the  world." 

"  And  why  not,  pray  ?  " 

"  Because,"  replied  the  squire,  "  if  you  found  out  who  he 
was,  you'd  be  hang'd  for  cannibalism." 

"  I  really  don't  understand  you,  Mr.  Folliard.  Excuse  me, 
but  it  would  seem  to  me  that  something  has  put  you  into  no 
very  agreeable  humor  to-day." 

"  You  don't  understand  me  !  Why,  Sir  Robert,"  replied 
the  other,  "  I  know  you  so  well  that  if  you  heard  the  name  of 
your  rival  you  would  first  kill  him,  then  powder  him,  and, 
lastly,  eat  him.  You  are  such  a  terrible  fellow  that  you  care 
about  no  man's  life,  not  even  about  mine." 

Now  it  was  to  this  very  point  that  the  calculating  baronet 
wished  to  bring  him.  The  old  man,  he  knew,  was  whimsical, 
capricious,  and  in  the  habit  of  taking  all  his  strongest  and 
most  enduring  resolutions  from  sudden  contrasts  produced  by 
some  mistake  of  his  own,  or  from  some  discovery  made  to  him 
on  the  part  of  others. 

"  As  to  your  life,  Mr.  Folliard,  let  me  assure  you,"  replied 


JV/LLy  REILLY.  69 

Sir  Robert,  "  that  there  is  no  man  living  prizes  it,  and,  let  me 
add,  your  character  too,  more  highly  than  I  do ;  but,  my  dear 
sir,  your  life  was  never  in  danger." 

"Never  in  danger?  what  do  you  mean,  Sir  Robert  ?  I 
tell  you,  sir,  that  the  murdering  miscreant,  the  Red  Rapparee, 
had  a  loaded  gun  levelled  at  me  last  evening,  after  dark." 

"  I  know  it,"  replied  the  other  ;  "  I  am  well  aware  of  it, 
and  you  were  rescued  just  in  the  nick  of  time." 

"True  enough,"  said  the  squire,  "just  in  the  nick  of  time  ; 
bv  that  glorious  young  fellow — a — a — yes — Reilly — Willy 
Reilly." 

"This  Willy  Reilly,  sir,  is  a  very  accomplished  person,  I 
think." 

"  A  gentleman.  Sir  Robert,  every  inch  of  him,  and  as 
handsome  and  fine-looking  a  young  fellow  as  ever  I  laid  my 
eyes  upon." 

"  He  was  educated  on  the  Continent  by  the  Jesuits." 

"  No  1  "  replied  the  squire,  dreadfully  alarmed  at  this  piece 
of  information,  "he  was  not;  by  the  great  Boyne,  he  wasn't." 

This  mighty  asseveration,  however,  was  exceedingly  feeble 
in  moral  strength  and  energy,  for,  in  point  of  fact,  it  came  out 
of  the  squire's  lips  more  in  the  shape  of  a  question  than  an 
oath. 

"It  is  unquestionably  true,  sir,"  said  the  baronet;  "ask 
himself,  and  he  will  admit  it." 

"Well,  and  granting  that  he  was,"  replied  the  squire, 
"  what  else  could  he  do,  when  the  laws  would  not  permit  of 
his  being  educated  here  ?  I  speak  not  against  the  laws,  God 
forbid,  but  of  his  individual  case." 

"We  are  travelling  from  the  point,  sir,"  returned  the 
baronet.  "  I  was  observing  that  Reilly  is  an  accomplished 
person,  as  indeed  every  Jesuit  is.  Be  that  as  it  may,  I  again 
beg  to  assure  you  that  your  life  stood  in  no  risk." 

"  I  don't  understand  you.  Sir  Robert.  You're  a  perfect 
oracle  ;  by  the  great  Deliverer  from  Pope  and  Popery,  wooden 
shoes,  and  so  forth,  only  that  Reilly  made  his  appearance  at 
that  moment  I  was  a  dead  man." 

"  Not  the  slightest  danger,  Mr.  Folliard.  I  am  aware  of 
that,  and  of  the  whole  Jesuitical  plot  from  the  beginning,  base, 
ingenious,  but  diabolical  as  it  was." 

The  squire  rose  up  and  looked  at  him  for  a  minute,  with- 
out speaking,  then  sat  down  again,  and,  a  second  time,  was 
partially  up,  but  resumed  his  seat. 

"  A  plot  I  "  he  exclaimed  \  "  a  plot,  Sir  Robert  1  What  plot  ? " 


7<* 


WILL  Y  REILL  Y. 


'*  A  plot,  Mr.  Folliard,  for  the  purpose  of  creating  an  op- 
portunity to  make  your  acquaintance,  and  of  ingratiating 
himself  into  the  good  graces  and  affections  of  your  lovely 
daughter ;  a  plot  for  the  purpose  of  marrying  her." 

The  squire  seemed  for  a  moment  thunderstruck,  but  in  a 
little  time  he  recovered.  "Marrying  her!"  he  exclaimed; 
"that,  you  know,  could  not  be  done,  unless  he  turned  Prot- 
estant." 

It  was  now  time  for  the  baronet  to  feel  thunderstricken. 

'■'He  turn  Protestant!  I  don't  understand  you,  Mr.  Fol- 
liard. Could  any  change  on  Reilly's  part  involve  such  a 
probability  as  a  marriage  between  him  and  your  daughter.'"' 

"  I  can't  believe  it  was  a  plot,  Sir  Robert,"  said  the  squire, 
shifting  the  question,  "nor  I  won't  believe  it.  There  was  too 
much  truth  and  sincerity  in  his  conduct.  And,  what  is  more, 
my  house  would  have  been  attacked  last  night ;  I  myselt 
robbed  and  murdered,  and  my  daughter — my  child,  carried 
off,  only  for  him.  Nay,  indeed,  it  was  partially  attacked,  but 
when  the  villains  found  us  prepared  they  decamped ;  but,  as 
for  marriage,  he  could  not  .narry  my  daughter,  I  say  again,  so 
long  as  he  remains  a  Papist." 

"Unless  he  might  prevail  on  her  to  turn  Papist." 

"  By  the  life  of  my  body.  Sir  Robert,  I  won't  stand  this. 
Did  you  come  here,  sir,  to  insult  me  and  to  drive  me  into 
madness?  What  devil  could  have  put  it  into  5'our  head  that 
my  daughter,  sir,  or  any  one  vvith  a  drop  of  my  blood  in  their 
veins,  to  the  tenth  generation,  could  ever,  for  a  single  moment, 
think  of  turning  Papist  ?  Sir,  I  hoped  that  you  would  have 
respected  the  name  both  of  my  daughter  and  myself,  and  have 
foreborne  to  add  this  double  insult  both  to  her  and  me.  The 
insolence  even  to  dream  of  imputing  such  an  act  to  her  I 
cannot  overlook.  You  yourself,  if  you  could  cain  a  point  or 
feather  your  nest  by  it,  are  a  thousand  times  much  more  likely 
to  turn  Papist  than  either  of  us.  Apologize  instantly,  sir,  or 
leave  my  house." 

"I  can  certainly  apologize,  Mr.  Folliard,"  replied  the 
baronet,  "and  with  a  good  conscience,  inasmuch  as  I  had  not 
the  most  remote  intention  of  offending  you,  much  less  Miss 
Folliard — I  accordingly  do  so  promptly  and  at  once  ;  but  as 
for  my  allegations  against  Reilly,  I  am  in  a  position  to  es- 
tablish their  truth  in  the  clearest  manner,  and  to  prove  to  you 
that  there  wasn't  a  single  robber,  nor  Rapparee  either,  at  or 
about  your  house  last  night  with  the  exception  of  Reilly  and  his 
gang.     If  there  were,  why  were  they  neither  heard  nor  seen?" 


WILLY  RErLLY.  fx 

"One  of  them  was — the  Red  Rapparee  himself." 

"  Do  not  be  deceived,  Mr.  Folliard  ;  did  you  yourself,  or 
any  of  your  family  or  household,  see  him  ?" 

"Why,  no,  certainly,  we  did  not;  I  admit  that." 

"  Yes',  and  you  will  admit  more  soon.  I  shall  prove  the 
whole  conspiracy." 

"  Well,  why  don't  you  then  ?  " 

"  Simply  because  the  matter  must  be  brought  about  Avith 
great  caution.  You  must  allow  me  a  few  days,  say  three  or 
four,  and  the  proofs  shall  be  given." 

"  Very  well.  Sir  Robert,  but  in  the  mean  time  I  shall  not 
throw  Reilly  overboard." 

"  Could  I  not  be  permitted  to  pay  my  respects  to  Miss 
Folliard  before  I  go,  sir?"  asked  Sir  Robert. 

"Don't  insist  upon  it,"  replied  her  father;  "you  know 
perfectly  well  that  she — that  you  are  no  favorite  with  her." 

"Nothing  on  earth,  sir,  grieves  me  so  much,"  said  the 
baronet,  affecting  a  melancholy  expression  of  countenance, 
which  was  ludicrous  to  look  at. 

"  Well,  well,"  said  the  old  man,  "  as  you  can't  see  her 
now,  come  and  meet  Reilly  here  at  dinner  the  day  after  to- 
morrow, and  you  shall  have  that  pleasure." 

"  It  will  be  with  pain,  sir,  that  I  shall  force  myself  into 
that  person's  society;  however,  to  oblige  you,  I  shall  do  it." 

"Consider,  pray  consider.  Sir  Robert,"  replied  the  old 
squire,  all  his  pride  of  family  glowing  strong  within  him,  "just 
consider  that  my  table,  sir,  and  my  countenance,  sir,  and  my 
sense  of  gratitude,  sir,  are  a  sufficient  guarantee  to  the  worth 
and  respectability  of  anyone  whom  I  may  ask  to  my  house. 
And,  Sir  Robert,  in  addition  to  that,  just  reflect  that  I  ask  him 
to  meet  my  daughter,  and,  if  I  don't  mistake,  I  think  I  love, 
honor,  and  respect  her  nearly  as  much  as  I  do  you.  Will  you 
come  then,  or  will  you  not  ?  " 

"  Unquestionably,  sir,  I  shall  do  myself  the  honor." 

"Very  well,"  replied  the  old  squire,  clearing  up  at  once 
— undergoing,  in  fact,  one  of  those  rapid  and  unaccountable 
changes  which  constituted  so  prominent  a  portion  of  his 
character.  "  Very  well,  Bobby  ;  good-by,  my  boy  ;  I  am  not 
angry  with  you ;  shake  hands,  and  curse  Popery." 

Until  the  morning  of  the  clay  on  which  the  two  rivals  were 
to  meet,  Miss  Folliard  began  to  entertain  a  dreadful  appre- 
hension that  the  fright  into  which  the  Red  Rapparee  had 
thrown  her  father  was  likely  to  terminate,  ere  long,  in  insanity. 
The  man  at  best  was  eccentric,  and  full  of  the  most  unac- 


7a  WILLY  REILLY, 

countable  changes  of  temper  and  purpose,  hot,  passionate, 
vindictive,  generous,  implacable,  and  benevolent.  What  he 
had  seldom  been  accustomed  to  do,  he  commenced  solilo- 
quizing aloud,  and  talking  to  himself  in  such  broken  hints  and 
dark  mysterious  allusions,  drawing  from  unknown  premises 
such  odd  and  ludicrous  inferences  ;  at  one  time  brushing  him- 
self up  in  Scripture;  at  another  moment  questioning  his 
daughter  about  her  opinion  on  Popery — sometimes  dealing 
about  political  and  religious  allusions  with  great  sarcasm,  in 
which  he  was  a  master  when  he  wished,  and  sometimes  with 
considerable  humor  of  illustration,  so  far,  at  least,  as  he  could 
be  understood. 

"  Confound  these  Jesuits,"  said  he  ;  "I  wish  they  were 
scoured  out  of  Europe.  Every  man  of  them  is  sure  to  put  his 
finger  in  the  pie  and  then  into  his  mouth  to  taste  what  it's 
like  ;  not  so  the  parsons — Hallo  !  where  am  I  ?  Take  care, 
old  Folliard  ;  take  care,  you  old  dog;  what  have  you  to  say  in 
favor  of  these  same  parsons — lazy,  negligent  fellows,  who 
snore  and  slumber,  feed  well,  clothe  well,  and  think  first  of 
number  one?  Egad,  I'm  in  a  mess  between  them.  One 
makes  a  slave  of  you,  and  the  other  allows  you  to  play  the 
tyrant.  A  plague,  as  I  heard  a  fellow  say  in  a  play  once,  a 
plague  o'  both  your  houses:  if  you  paid  more  attention  to 
your  duties,  and  scrambled  less  for  wealth  and  power,  and 
this  world's  honors,  you  would  not  turn  it  upside  down  as  you 
do.     Helen!" 

"  Well,  papa." 

"  I  have  doubts  whether  I  shall  allow  you  to  sound  Reilly 
on  Popery." 

"  I  would  rather  decline  it,  sir." 

"  I'll  tell  you  what ;  I'll  see  Andy  Cummiskey — Andy's 
opinion  is  good  on  anything."  And  accordingly  he  proceeded 
to  see  his  confidential  old  servant.  With  this  purpose,  and 
in  his  own  original  manner,  he  went  about  consulting  every 
servant  under  his  roof  upon  their  respective  notions  of  Popery, 
as  he  called  it,  and  striving  to  allure  them,  at  one  time  by 
kindness,  and  at  another  by  threatening  them,  into  an  avowal 
of  its  idolatrous  tendency.  Those  to  whom  he  spoke,  how- 
ever, knew  very  little  about  it,  and,  like  those  of  all  creeds  in 
a  similar  predicament,  he  found  that,  in  proportion  to  their 
ignorance  of  its  doctrines,  arose  the  vehemence  and  sincerity 
of  their  defence  of  it.  This,  however,  is  human  nature,  and 
we  do  not  see  how  the  learned  can  condemn  it.  Upon  the 
day  appointed  for  dinner  only  four  sat  down  to  it — that  is  tQ 


IVILL  Y  REILL  Y.  ^3 

say,  the  squire,  his  daughter,  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  and 
Reilly.  They  had  met  in  the  drawing-room  some  time  before 
its  announcement,  and  as  the  old  man  introduced  the  two 
latter,  Reilly's  bow  was  courteous  and  genllenu\nly,  whilst 
that  of  the  baronet,  who  not  only  detested  Reilly  with  the 
hatred  of  a  demon,  but  resolved  to  make  him  feel  the  superi- 
ority of  rank  and  wealth,  was  frigid,  supercilious,  and  offensive. 
Reilly  at  once  saw  this,  and,  as  he  knew  not  that  the  baronel 
was  in  possession  of  his  secret,  he  felt  his  ill-bred  insolence 
the  more  deeply.  He  was  too  much  of  a  gentleman,  however, 
and  too  well  acquainted  with  the  principles  and  forms  of 
good  breeding,  to  seem  to  notice  it  in  the  slightest  degree. 
The  old  squire  at  this  time  had  not  at  all  given  Reilly  up,  but 
still  his  confidence  in  him  was  considerably  shaken.  He  saw, 
moreover,  that,  notwithstanding  what  had  occurred  at  their 
last  interview,  the  baronet  had  forgotten  the  respect  due  both 
to  himself  and  his  daughter ;  and,  as  he  had,  amidst  all  his 
eccentricities,  many  strong  touches  of  the  old  Irish  gentleman 
about  him,  he  resolved  to  punish  him  for  his  ungentlemanly 
deportment.  Accordingly,  when  dinner  was  announced,  he 
said  : 

"  Mr.  Reilly,  you  will  give  Miss  Folliard  your  arm." 

We  do  not  say  that  the  worthy  baronet  squinted,  but  there 
was  a  bad  vindictive  look  in  his  small,  cunning  eyes,  which, 
as  they  turned  upon  Reilly,  was  ten  times  more  repulsive  than 
the  worst  squint  that  ever  disfigured  a  human  countenance. 
To  add  to  his  chagrin,  too,  the  squire  came  out  with  a  bit  of 
his  usual  sarcasm. 

"  Come,  baronet,"  said  he,  "  here's  my  arm.  I  am  the  old 
man,  and  you  are  the  old  lady  ;  and  now  for  dinner." 

In  the  mean  time  Reilly  and  the  Cooleen  Baivn  had  gone  far 
enough  in  advance  to  be  in  a  condition  to  speak  without  being 
heard. 

"That,"  said  she,  "is  the  husband  my  father  intends  for 
me,  or,  rather,  did  intend  \  for,  do  you  know,  that  you  have 
found  such  favor  in  his  sight  that — that — "  she  hesitated,  and 
Reilly,  looking  into  her  face,  saw  that  she  blushed  deeply, 
and  he  felt  by  her  arm  that  her  whole  frame  trembled  with 
emotion. 

"  Proceed,  dearest  love,"  said  he  ;  "  what  is  it  ?  " 

"I  have  not  time  to  tell  you  now,"  she  replied,  "but  he 
mentioned  a  project  to  me  which,  if  it  could  be  accomplished, 
would  seal  both  your  happiness  and  mine  forever.  Your 
religion  is  the  only  obstacle." 


74  WILLY  REILLY. 

"And  that,  my  love,"  he  replied,  "is  an  insurmountable 
one." 

"  Alas  !  I  feared  as  much,"  she  replied,  sighing  bitterly  as 
she  spoke. 

The  old  squire  took  the  head  of  the  table,  and  requested 
Sir  Robert  to  take  the  foot ;  his  daughter  was  at  his  right 
hand,  and  Reilly  opposite  her,  by  which  means,  although 
denied  any  confidential  use  of  the  tongue,  their  eyes  enjoyed 
very  gratifying  advantages,  and  there  passed  between  tiiem 
occasionally  some  of  those  rapid  glances  which,  especially 
when  lovers  are  under  surveilla7ice,  concentrate  in  their  light- 
ning flash  more  significance,  more  hope,  more  joy,  and  more 
love,  than  ever  was  conveyed  by  the  longest  and  tenderest 
gaze  of  affection  under  other  circumstances. 

"  Mr.  Reilly,"  said  the  squire,  "  I  am  told  that  you  are  a 
very  well  educated  man  ;  indeed,  the  thing  is  evident.  What, 
let  me  ask  you,  is  your  opinion  of  education  in  general .''  " 

"  Why,  sir,"  replied  Reilly,  "  I  think  there  can  be  but  one 
opinion  about  it.  Without  education  a  people  can  never  be 
moral,  prosperous,  or  happy.  Without  it,  how  are  they  to 
learn  the  duties  of  this  life,  or  those  still  more  important  ones 
that  prepare  them  for  a  better .''  " 

"  You  would  entrust  the  conduct  and  control  of  it,  I  pre- 
sume, sir,  to  the  clergy  } "  asked  Sir  Robert  insidiously. 

"  I  would  give  the  priest  such  control  in  education  as  be- 
comes his  position,  which  is  not  only  to  educate  the  youth, 
but  to  instruct  the  man,  in  all  the  duties  enjoined  by  re- 
ligion." 

The  squire  now  gave  a  triumphant  look  at  the  baronet, 
and  a  very  kind  and  gracious  one  at  Reilly. 

"  Pray,  sir,"  continued  the  baronet,  in  his  cold,  supercil- 
ious manner,  "  from  the  peculiarity  of  your  views,  I  feel  anx- 
ious, if  you  will  pardon  me,  to  ask  where  you  yourself  have 
received  your  very  accomplished  education  .-'  " 

"Whether  my  education,  sir,  has  been  an  accomplished 
one  or  otherwise,"  replied  Reilly,  "  is  a  point,  I  apprehend, 
beyond  the  reach  of  any  opportunity  you  ever  had  to  know. 
I  received  my  education,  sir,  such  as  it  is,  and  if  it  be  not 
belter  the  fault  is  my  own,  in  a  Jesuit  seminary  on  the  Con- 
tinent." 

It  was  now  the  baronet's  time  to  triumph  ,  and  indeed  the 
bitter  glancing  look  he  gave  at  the  squire,  although  it  was  in- 
tended for  Reilly,  resembled  that  which  one  of  the  more  cun- 
ning and  ferocious  beasts  of  prey  makes  previous  to  its  death- 


WILLY  REILLY.  *5 

Spring  upon  its  victim.  The  old  man's  countenance  instantly 
fell.  He  looked  with  surprise,  not  unmingled  with  sorrow 
and  distrust,  at  Reilly,  a  circumstance  which  did  not  escape 
his  daughter,  who  could  not,  for  the  life  of  her,  avoid  fixing 
her  eyes,  lovelier  even  in  the  disdain  they  expressed,  with  an 
indignant  look  at  the  baronet. 

The  latter,  however,  felt  resolved  to  bring  his  rival  still 
further  within  the  toils  he  was  preparing  for  him,  an  object 
which  Reilly's  candor  very  much  facilitated. 

"  Mr.  Reilly,"  said  the  squire,  "  I  was  not  prepared  to 
hear — a — a — hem  ! — God  bless  me,  it  is  very  odd,  very  de- 
plorable, very  much  to  be  regretted  indeed  !  " 

"  What  is,  sir  ?  "  asked  Reilly. 

"  Why,  that  you  should  be  a  Jesuit.  I  must  confess  I  was 
not — ahem  ! — God  bless  me.  I  can't  doubt  your  own  word, 
certainly." 

"  Not  on  this  subject,"  observed  the  baronet,  coolly. 

"  On  no  subject,  sir,"  replied  Reilly,  looking  him  sternly, 
and  with  an  indignation  that  was  kept  within  bounds  only  by 
his  respect  for  the  other  parties,  and  the  roof  that  covered 
him  ;  "  on  no  subject.  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  is  my  word  to 
be  doubted." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,  replied  the  other,  "  I  did  not 
say  so." 

"  I  will  neither  have  it  said,  sir,  nor  insinuated,"  rejoined 
Reilly.  "  I  received  my  education  on  the  Continent  because 
the  laws  of  this  country  prevented  me  from  receiving  it  here. 
I  was  placed  in  a  Jesuit  seminary,  not  by  my  own  choice,  but 
by  that  of  my  father,  to  whom  I  owed  obedience.  Your  op- 
pressive laws,  sir,  first  keep  us  ignorant,  and  then  punish  us 
for  the  crimes  which  that  ignorance  produces." 

"  Do  you  call  the  laws  of  the  country  oppressive  .'' "  asked 
the  baronet,  with  as  much  of  a  sneer  as  cowardice  would  per- 
mit him  to  indulge  in. 

"  I  do,  sir,  and  ever  will  consider  them  so,  at  least  so  long 
as  they  deprive  myself  and  my  Catholic  fellow-countrymen  of 
their  civil  and  religious  rights." 

"  That  is  strong  language,  though,"  observed  the  other, 
"  at  this  time  of  day." 

"  Mr.  Reilly,"  said  the  squire,  "you  seem  to  be  very  much 
attached  to  your  religion." 

"  Just  as  much  as  I  am  to  my  life,  sir,  and  would  as  soon 
give  up  the  one  as  the  other." 

The  squire's  countenance  literally  became  pale,  his  lasl 


^6  WILL  y  RE  ILL  Y. 

hope  was  gone,  and  so  great  was  his  agitation  that,  in  bring- 
ing a  ghiss  of  wine  to  his  lips,  his  hand  trembled  to  such  a 
degree  that  he  spilled  a  part  of  it.  This,  however,  was  not 
all.  A  settled  gloom — a  morose — dissatisfied  expression — 
soon  overshadowed  his  features,  from  which  disappeared  all 
trace  of  that  benignant,  open,  and  friendly  hospitality  towards 
Reilly  that  had  hitherto  beamed  from  them.  He  and  the 
baronet  exchanged  glances  of  whose  import,  if  Reilly  was 
ignorant,  not  so  his  beloved  Cooleen  Bawn.  For  the  remain- 
der of  the  evening  the  squire  treated  Reilly  with  great  cool- 
ness, always  addressing  him  as  Mister,  and  evidently  contem- 
plating him  in  a  spirit  which  partook  of  the  feeling  that  ani- 
mated Sir  Robert  Whitecraft. 

Helen  rose  to  withdraw,  and  contrived,  by  a  sudden  glance 
at  the  door,  and  another  as  quick  in  the  direction  of  the  draw- 
ing-room, to  let  her  lover  know  that  she  wished  him  to  follow 
her  soon.  The  hint  was  not  lost,  for  in  less  than  half  an  hour 
Reilly,  who  was  of  very  temperate  habits,  joined  her  as  she 
had  hinted. 

"Reilly,"  said  she,  as  she  ran  to  him,  *' dearest  Reilly  ! 
there  is  little  time  to  be  lost.  I  perceive  that  a  secret  under- 
standing respecting  you  exists  between  papa  and  that  detest- 
able baronet.  Be  on  your  guard,  especially  against  the  latter, 
who  has  evidently,  ever  since  we  sat  down  to  dinner,  contrived 
to  bring  papa  round  to  his  own  way  of  thinking,  as  he  will  ulti- 
mately, perhaps,  to  worse  designs  and  darker  purposes. 
Above  all  things,  speak  nothing  that  can  be  construed  against 
the  existing  laws.  I  find  that  danger,  if  not  positive  injury, 
awaits  you.     I  shall,  at  any  risk,  give  you  warning." 

"  At  no  risk,  beloved  ?  " 

"  At  every  risk — at  all  risks,  dearest  Reilly  !  Nay,  more 
— whatever  danger  may  encompass  you  shall  be  shared  by 
me,  even  at  the  risk  of  my  life,  or  I  shall  extricate  you  out  of 
it.  But  perhaps  you  will  not  be  faithful  to  me.  If  so  I 
shudder  to  think  what  might  happen." 

"Listen,"  said  Reilly,  taking  her  by  the  hand,  " /« /"//^ 
presence  of  heaven,  I  am  yours,  and  yours  only,  until  death  /'^ 

She  repeated  his  words,  after  which  they  had  scarcely 
taken  their  seats  when  the  squire  and  Sir  Robert  entered  the 
drawing-room. 


tVILL Y  REILLY.  ** 

CHAPTER  V. 

THE   PLOT   AND   THE   VICTIMS. 

Sir  Robert,  on  entering  the  room  along  with  the  squire, 
found  the  Cooleen  Baivn  at  the  spinnet.  'J'aking  his  place  at 
the  end  of  it,  so  as  that  he  could  gain  a  full  view  of  her  counte- 
nance, he  thought  he  could  observe  her  complexion  con- 
siderably heightened  in  color,  and  from  her  his  glance  was 
directed  to  Reilly.  The  squire  on  the  other  hand,  sat  dull, 
silent,  and  unsociable,  unless  when  addressing  himself  to 
the  baronet,  and  immediately  his  genial  manner  returned  to 
him. 

With  his  usual  impetuosity,  however,  when  laboring  under 
what  he  supposed  to  be  a  sense  of  injury,  he  soon  brought 
matters  to  a  crisis. 

"  Sir  Robert,"  said  he,  "are  the  Papists  quiet  now?" 

"They  are  quiet,  sir,"  replied  the  other,  " because  they 
dare  not  be  otherwise." 

"  By  the  great  Deliverer,  that  saved  us  from  Pope  and 
Popery,  brass  money  and  wooden  shoes,  I  think  the  country 
will  never  be  quiet  till  they  are  banished  out  of  it." 

"  Indeed,  Mr.  Folliard,  I  agree  with  you." 

"  And  so  do  I,  Sir  Robert,"  said  Reilly.  "  I  wish  from 
my  soul  there  was  not  a  Papist,  as  you  call  them,  in  this  un- 
fortunate country!  In  any  other  country  beyond  the  bounds 
of  the  British  dominions  they  could  enjoy  freedom.  But  I 
wish  it  for  another  reason,  gentlemen  ;  if  they  were  gone, 
you  would  be  taught  to  your  cost  the  value  of  your  estates 
and  the  source  of  your  incomes.  And  now,  Mr,  Folliard,  I 
am  not  conscious  of  having  given  you  any  earthly  offence,  but 
I  cannot  possibly  pretend  to  misunderstand  the  object  of 
your  altered  conduct  and  language.  I  am  your  guest  at  your 
own  express  invitation.  You  know  I  am  a  Roman  Catholic 
— Papist,  if  you  will — yet,  with  the  knowledge  of  this,  you 
have  not  only  insulted  me  personally,  but  also  the  creed  to 
which  I  belong.  As  for  that  gentleman,  I  can  only  say  that 
this  roof  and  the  presence  of  those  who  are  under  it  constitute 
his  protection.  But  I  envy  not  the  man  who  could  avail  him- 
self of  such  a  position,  for  the  purpose  of  insinuating  an  insult 
which  he  dare  not  offer  \x\v    r  other  circumstances.     I  will  not 


78  WILLY  REILLY. 

apolc^^ize  for  taking  my  departure,  for  I  feel  that  I  have  been 
tor  long  here." 

Coolccn  Baivn  arose  in  deep  agitation.  "  Dear  papa,  what 
is  this  ?"  she  exclaimed.  "  What  can  be  the  cause  of  it  ?  Why 
forget  the  laws  of  hospitality?  Why,  above  all  things,  de- 
liberately insult  the  man  to  whom  you  and  I  both  owe  so 
much  ?  Oh,  I  cannot  understand  it.  Some  demon,  equally 
cowardly  and  malignant,  must  have  poisoned  your  own  natur- 
ally generous  mind.  Some  villain,  equally  profligate  and 
hypocritical,  has,  for  some  dark  purpose,  given  this  unworthy 
bias  to  your  mind." 

"You  know  nothing  of  it,  Helen.  You're  altogether  in 
the  dark,  girl ;  but  in  a  day  or  two  it  will  be  made  clear  to 
you." 

"  Do  not  be  discomposed,  my  dear  Miss  Folliard,"  said 
Sir  Robert,  striding  over  to  her.  "Allow  me  to  prevail  upon 
you  to  suspend  your  judgment  for  a  little,  and  to  return  to  the 
beautiful  air  you  were  enchanting  us  with." 

As  he  spoke  he  attempted  to  take  her  hand.  Reilly,  in 
the  mean  time,  was  waiting  for  an  opportunity  to  bid  his  love 
good-night. 

"  Touch  me  not,  sir,"  she  replied,  her  glorious  eyes  flashing 
with  indignation.  "  I  charge  you  as  the  base  cause  of  draw- 
ing down  the  disgrace  of  shame,  the  sin  of  ingratitude,  on  my 
father's  head.  But  here  that  father  stands,  and  there  you, 
sir,  stand ;  and  sooner  than  become  the  wife  of  Sir  Robert 
Whitecraft  I  would  dash  myself  from  the  battlements  of  this 
castle.  William  Reilly,  biave  and  generous  young  man,  good- 
night !  It  matters  not  who  may  forget  the  debt  of  gratitude 
which  this  family  owe  you — /  zvill  7iot.  No  cowardly  slan- 
derer shall  instill  his  poisonous  calumnies  against  you  into  my 
ear.  My  opinion  of  you  is  unchanged  and  unchangeable. 
Farewell  I  William  Reilly  !  " 

We  shall  not  attempt  to  describe  the  commotions  of  love, 
of  happiness,  of  rapture,  which  filled  Reilly's  bosom  as  he 
took  his  departure.  As  for  Cooleen  Bawn  she  had  now  passed 
the  Rubicon,  and  there  remained  nothing  for  her  but  con- 
stancy to  the  truth  of  her  affection,  be  the  result  what  it  might. 
She  had,  indeed,  much  of  the  vehemence  of  her  father's  char- 
acter in  her  ;  much  of  his  unchangeable  purpose,  when  she 
felt  or  thought  she  was  right  ;  but  not  one  of  his  unfounded 
•whims  or  prejudices  ;  for  she  was  too  noble-minded  and  sen- 
sible to  be  influenced  by  unbecoming  or  inadequate  motives. 
With  an  indignant  but  beautiful  scorn,  that  gave  grace  to  re- 


WILL  Y  REILL  Y. 


79 


sentment,  she  bowed  (o  the  baronet,  then  kissed  her  father 
aflfectiouately  and  retired. 

The  old  man  after  she  had  gone,  sat  for  a  considerable 
time  silent.  In  fact,  the  superior  force  of  his  daughter's  char- 
acter had  not  only  surprised,  but  overpowered  him  for  the 
moment.  The  baronet  attempted  to  resume  the  conversation, 
but  he  found  not  his  intended  father-in-law  in  the  mood  for  it. 
The  light  of  truth,  as  it  flashed  from  the  spirit  of  his  daugh- 
ter, seemed  to  dispel  the  darkness  of  his  recent  suspicions  ; 
he  dwelt  upon  the  possibility  of  ingratitude  with  a  temporary 
remorse. 

"  I  cannot  speak  to  you.  Sir  Robert,"  he  said  ;  "  I  am 
confused,  disturbed,  distressed.  If  I  have  treated  that  young 
man  ungratefully,  God  may  forgive  me,  but  I  will  never  for- 
give myself." 

"Take  care,  sir,"  said  the  baronet,  "that  you  are  not 
under  the  spell  of  the  Jesuit  and  your  daughter  too.  PerhapS' 
you  will  find  when  it  is  too  late,  that  she  is  the  more  spell- 
bound of  the  two.  If  I  don't  mistake,  the  spell  begins  to^ 
work  already.  In  the  mean  time,  as  Miss  Folliard  will  have 
it,  I  withdraw  all  claims  upon  her  hand  and  affections.. 
Good-night,  sir;"  and  as  he  spoke  he  took  his  departure. 

For  a  long  time  the  old  man  sat  looking  into  the  fire,, 
where  he  began  gradually  to  picture  to  himself  strange  forms 
and  objects  in  the  glowing  embers,  one  of  whom  he  thought 
resembled  the  Red  Rapparee  about  to  shoot  him  ;  another,. 
Willy  Reilly  making  love  to  his  daughter  ;  and  behind  all,  a' 
high  gallows,  of  which  he  beheld  the  said  Willy  Reilly  hang- 
ing for  his  crime. 

In  about  an  hour  afterwards  Miss  Folliard  returned  to  the- 
drawing-room,  where  she  found  her  father  asleep  in  his  arm- 
chair. Having  awakened  him  gently  from  M'hat  appeared  a; 
disturbed  dream,  he  looked  about  him,  and,  forgetting  for  a, 
moment  all  that  had  happened,  inquired  in  his  usual  eager 
manner  where  Reilly  and  Whitecraft  were,  and  if  they  had 
gone.  In  a  few  moments,  however,  he  remembereTl  the  circum- 
stances that  had  taken  place,  and  after  heaving  a  leep  sigh, 
he  opened  his  arms  for  his  daughter,  and  as  he  embraced  her 
burst  into  tears. 

"  Helen,"  said  he,  "  I  am  unhappy  ;  I  am  distressed  ;  I 
know  not  what  to  do  ! — may  (]od  forgive  me  if  I  have  treated 
this  young  man  with  ingratitude.  But,  at  all  events,  a  few 
days  will  clear  it  all  up." 

His  daughter  was  melted  by  the  depth  of  his  sorrow,  and 


8o  WILLY  RETLLY. 

the  more  so  as  it  was  seldom  she  had  seen  him  shed  tears 
before. 

"  I  would  do  everything — anything  to  make  you  happy, 
my  dear  treasure,"  said  he,  "  if  I  only  knew  how." 

'•  Dear  papa,"  she  replied,  "  of  that  I  am  conscious  ;  and  as 
a  proof  that  the  heart  of  your  daughter  is  incapable  of  veiling 
a  single  thought  that  passes  in  it  from  a  parent  who  loves  her 
so  well,  I  will  place  its  most  cherished  secret  in  your  own  keep- 
ing. I  shall  nor  be  outdone  even  by  you,  dear  papa,  in  gener- 
osity, in  confidence,  in  affection.  Papa,"  she  added  placing 
her  head  upon  his  bosom,  whilst  the  tears  flowed  fast  down  her 
cheeks,  "papa,  I  love  William  Reilly — love  him  with  a  pure 
and  disinterested  passion  ! — with  a  passion  which  I  feel  con- 
stitutes my  destiny  in  this  life — either  for  happiness  or  misery. 
That  passion  is  irrevocable.  It  is  useless  to  ask  me  to  con 
trol  or  suppress  it,  for  I  feel  that  the  task  is  beyond  my  power. 
My  love,  however,  is  not  base  nor  selfish,  papa,  but  founded 
on  virtue  and  honor.  It  may  seem  strange  that  I  should 
make  such  a  confession  to  you,  for  I  know  it  is  unusual  in 
young  persons  like  me  to  do  so ;  but  remember,  dear  papa, 
that  except  yourself  I  have  no  friend.  If  I  had  a  mother,  or 
a  sister,  or  a  cousin  of  my  own  sex,  to  whom  I  might  confide 
and  unburden  my  feelings,  then  indeed  it  is  not  probable  I 
would  make  to  you  the  confession  which  I  have  made  ;  but 
we  are  alone,  and  you  are  the  only  being  left  me  on  whom 
can  rest  my  sorrow — for  indeed  my  heart  is  full  of  sorrow." 

"  Well,  well,  I  know  not  what  to  say.  You  are  a  true  girl, 
Helen,  and  the  very  error,  if  it  be  one,  is  diminished  by  the 
magnanimity  and  truth  which  prompted  you  to  disclose  it  to 
me.  I  will  go  to  bed,  dearest,  and  sleep  if  I  can.  I  trust  in 
God  there  is  no  calamity  abowt  to  overshadow  our  house  or 
destroy  our  happiness." 

He  then  sought  his  own  chamber  ;  and  Cooleen  Bawn, 
after  attending  him  thither,  left  him  to  the  care  of  his  attend- 
ant and  retired  herself  to  her  apartment. 

On  reaching  home  Reilly  found  Fergus,  one  of  his  own 
relatives,  as  we  have  said,  the  same  who,  warned  by  his  re- 
monstrances, had  abandoned  the  gang  of  the  Red  Rapparee, 
waiting  to  see  him. 

"  Well,  Fergus,"  said  he,  "  I  am  glad  that  you  have  fol- 
lowed my  advice.  You  have  left  the  lawless  employment  of 
that  blood-stained  man  ?  " 

"I  have,"  replied  the  other,  "and  I'm  here  to  tell  you 
that  you  can  now  secure  him  if  you  like.     I  don't  look  upon 


WILLY  REILLY.  g, 

saym  this  as  treachery  to  him,  nor  would  I  mention  it  only 
that  Paudeen,  the  smith,  who  shoes  and  doctors  his  horses, 
tould  me  something  tiiat  you  ought  to  know." 

"  Well,  P^ergus,  what  is  it  ?  " 

"  There's  a  plot  laid,  sir,  to  send  you  out  o'  the  country, 
and  the  Red  Rapparee  has  a  hand  in  it.  He  is  promised  a 
pardon  from  government,  and  some  kind  of  a  place  as  thief- 
taker,  if  he'll  engage  in  it  against  you.  Now,  you  know, 
there's  a  price  upon  his  head,  and,  if  you  like,  you  can  have 
it,  and  get  an  enemy  put  out  of  your  way  at  the  same  time." 

•'  No,  Fergus,"  replied  Reilly  ;  "  in  a  moment  of  indigna- 
tion I  threatened  him  in  order  to  save  the  life  of  a  fellow- 
creature.  But  let  the  laws  deal  with  him.  As  for  me,  you 
know  what  he  deserves  at  my  hands,  but  I  shall  never  become 
the  hound  of  a  government  which  oppresses  me  unjustly.  No, 
no,  it  is  precisely  because  a  price  is  laid  upon  the  unfortunate 
•miscreant's  head  that  /would  not  betray  him." 

"  He  will  betray  you,  then." 

"  And  let  him.  I  have  never  violated  any  law,  and  even 
though  he  should  betray  me,  Fergus,  he  cannot  viake  me 
guilty.  To  the  laws,  to  God,  and  his  own  conscience,  I  leave 
him.  No,  Fergus,  all  sympathy  between  me  and  the  laws 
that  oppress  us  is  gone.  Let  them  vindicate  themselves 
against  thieves  and  robbers  and  murderers,  with  as  much 
vigilance  and  energy  as  they  do  against  the  harmless  forms 
of  religion  and  the  rights  of  conscience,  and  the  country  will 
soon  be  free  from  such  licentious  pests  as  the  Red  Rapparee 
and  his  gang." 

"  You  speak  warmly,  Mr.  Reilly." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Reilly,  "  I  am  warm,  I  am  indignant  at  my 
degradation.  Fergus,  Fergus,  I  never  felt  that  degradation 
and  its  consequences  so  deeply  as  I  do  this  unhappy  night." 

"Well,  will  you  listen  to  me  ?  " 

"  I  will  strive  to  do  so  ;  but  you  know  not  the — you  know 
not — alas  !  I  have  no  language  to  express  what  I  feel.  Pro- 
ceed, however,"  he  added,  attempting  to  calm  the  tumult  that 
agitated  his  heart ;  ''  what  about  this  plot  or  plan  for  putting 
me  out  of  the  country  ?  " 

"  Well,  sir,  it's  determined  on  to  send  you,  by  the  means  of 
the  same  laws  you  speak  of,  out  of  the  country.  The  red  vil- 
lain is  to  come  in  with  a  charge  against  you  and  surrender 
himself  to  government  as  a  penitent  man,  and  the  person  who 
is  to  protect  him  is  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft." 

"  It's  all  true,  Fergus,"  said  Reilly  ;  "  I  see  it  at  a  glance, 

6 


82  WILLY  REILLY. 

and  I  understand  it  a  great  deal  better  than  you  do.  They 
may,  however,  be  disappointed.  Fergus,  I  have  a  friend — a 
friend — oh,  such  a  friend  !  and  it  will  go  hard  with  that  friend, 
or  I  shall  hear  of  their  proceedings.  In  the  mean  time,  what 
do  you  intend  to  do  ?  " 

"  I  scarcely  know,"  replied  the  other,  "  I  must  lie  quiet 
for  a  while,  at  any  rate." 

"  Do  so,"  said  Reilly  ;  "  and  listen,  Fergus.  See  Paudeen, 
the  smith,  from  time  to  time,  and  get  whatever  he  knows  out 
of  him.  His  father  was  a  tenant  of  ours,  and  he  ought  to  re- 
member our  kindness  to  him  and  his." 

"  Ay,"  said  Fergus,  "  and  he  does  too." 

"Well,  it  is  clear  he  does.  Get  from  him  all  the  informa- 
tion you  can,  and  let  me  hear  it.  I  would  give  you  shelter  in 
my  house,  but  that  now  would  be  dangerous  both  to  you  and 
me.     Do  you  want  money  to  support  you  ? " 

"  Well,  indeed,  Mr.  Reilly,  I  do  and  I  do  not.     I  can — " 

"That's  enough,"  said  Reilly;  "you  want  it.  Here, take 
this.  I  would  recommend  you,  as  I  did  before,  to  leave  this 
unhappy  country  ;  but  as  circumstances  have  turned  out,  you 
may  for  some  time  yet  be  useful  to  me.  Good-night,  then, 
Fergus.  Serve  me  in  this  matter  as  far  as  you  can,  for  I  stand 
in  need  of  it." 

As  nothing  like  an  organized  police  existed  in  Ireland  at 
the  period  of  which  we  speak,  an  outlaw  or  rapparee  might 
have  a  price  laid  upon  his  head  for  months — nay,  for  years — 
and  yet  continue  his  outrages  and  defy  the  executive.  Some- 
times it  happened  that  the  authorities,  feeling  the  weakness 
of  their  resources  and  the  inadequacy  of  their  power,  did  not 
hesitate  to  propose  terms  to  the  leaders  of  these  banditti,  and, 
by  affotxling  them  personal  protection,  succeeded  in  inducing 
them  to  betray  their  former  associates.  Now  Reilly  was  well 
aware  of  this,  and  our  readers  need  not  be  surprised  that  the 
communication  made  to  him  by  his  kinsman  filled  him  not 
only  with  anxiety  but  alarm.  A  very  sHght  charge  indeed 
brought  forward  by  a  man  of  rank  and  property — such  a 
charge,  for  instance,  as  the  possession  of  firearms — was  quite 
sufficient  to  get  a  Roman  Catholic  banished  the  country. 

On  the  third  evening  after  this  our  friend  Tom  Steeple  was 
met  by  its  proprietor  in  the  avenue  leading  to  Corbo  Castle. 

"  Well,  Tom,"  said  the  squire,  "  are  you  for  the  Big 
House?"  for  such  is  the  general  term  applied  to  all  the  an- 
cestral mansions  of  the  country. 

Tom  stopped  and  looked  at  him — for  we   need  scarcely 


WILLY  RETLLY.  83 

observe  here  that  with  poor  Tom  there  was  no  respect  of 
persons  ;  he  then  shook  his  head,  and  replied,  "  Me  don't 
know  whether  you  tall  or  not.  Tom  tall — will  Tom  go  to  Big 
House — get  bully  dinner — and  Tom  sleep  under  the  stairs — 
eh  ?     Say  ay,  an'  you  be  tall  too." 

"  To  be  sure,  Tom  ;  go  into  the  house,  and  your  cousin 
Larry  Lanigan,  the  cook,  will  give  you  a  bully  dinner ;  and 
sleep  where  you  like." 

The  squire  walked  up  and  down  the  avenue  in  a  thought- 
ful mood  for  some  moments  until  another  of  our  characters 
met  him  on  his  way  towards  the  entrance  gate.  This  person 
was  no  other  than  Molly  Mahon. 

"  Ha !  "  said  he,  "  here  is  another  of  them — well,  poor 
devils,  they  must  live.  This,  though,  is  the  great  fortune- 
teller.    I  will  try  her." 

"God  save  your  honor,"  said  Molly,  as  she  approached 
him  and  dropped  a  curtsey. 

"  Ah,  Molly,"  said  he,  "  you  can  see  into  the  future,  they 
say.  Well,  come  now,  tell  me  my  fortune  ;  but  they  say  one 
must  cross  your  palm  with  silver  before  you  can  manage  the 
fates  ;  here's  a  shilling  for  you,  and  let  us  hear  what  you  have 
to  say." 

"  No,  sir,"  replied  Molly,  putting  back  his  hand,  "  impos- 
thurs  may  do  that,  because  they  secure  themselves  first  and 
tell  you  nothing  worthknowin'  afterwards.  I  take  no  money 
until  I  first  tell  the  fortune." 

"  Well,  Molly,  that's  honest  at  all  events  ;  let  me  hear 
what  3'^ou  have  to  tell  me." 

"  Show  me  your  hand,  sir,"  said  she,  and  taking  it,  she 
looked  into  it  with  a  solemn  aspect.  "There,  sir,"  she  said, 
"that  will  do.     I  am  sorry  I  met  you  this  evening." 

"Why  so,  Molly.?" 

"  Because  I  read  in  your  hand  a  great  deal  of  sorrow." 

"  Pooh,  you  foolish  woman — nonsense  !" 

"  There's  a  misfortune  likely  to  happen  to  one  of  your 
family  ;  but  I  think  it  may  be  prevented?" 

"  How  will  it  be  prevented  ? " 

"  By  a  gentleman  that  has  a  title  and  great  wealth,  and 
that  loves  the  member  of  your  family  that  the  misfortune  is 
likely  to  happen  to." 

The  squire  paused  and  looked  at  the  woman,  who  seemed 
to  speak  seriously,  and  even  with  pain. 

"  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it,  Molly  ;  but  granting  that  it 
be  true,  how  do  you  know  it .''  " 


84  WILLY  REILCY. 

"  That's  more  than  I  can  tell  myself,  sir,"  she  replied. 
**A  feelin' comes  over  me.  and  I  can't  help  speakin'  the 
words  as  they  rise  to  my  lips." 

"  Well,  Molly,  here's  a  shilling  for  you  now  ;  but  I  want 
you  to  see  my  daughter's  hand  till  I  hear  what  you  have  to 
say  for  her.     Are  you  a  Papist,  Molly  ? " 

"  No,  your  honor,  I  was  one  wanst ;  but  the  moment  we 
take  to  this  way  of  life  we  mustn't  belong  to  any  religion,  oth- 
erwise we  couldn't  tell  the  future." 

"  Sell  yourself  to  the  devil,  eh?" 

"  Oh,  no,  sir  ;  but—" 

"But  what?     Out  with  it." 

"  I  can't,  sir;  if  I  did,  I  never  could  tell  a  fortune  agin." 

•'Well — \\t\\  ;  come  up;  I  have  taken  a  fancy  that  you 
shall  tell  my  daughter's  for  all  that." 

"  Surely  there  can  be  nothing  but  happiness  before  her, 
sir ;  she  that  is  so  good  to  the  poor  and  distressed  ;  she  that 
has  all  the  world  admirin'  her  wonderful  beauty.  Sure,  they 
sav,  her  health  was  drunk  in  the  Lord  Lieutenant's  house  in 
the  great  Castle  of  Dublin,  as  the  Lily  of  the  Plains  of  Boyle 
and  the  Star  of  Ireland." 

"  And  so  it  was,  Molly,  and  so  it  was  ;  there's  another 
shilling  for  you.  Come  now,  come  up  to  the  house,  and  tell 
her  fortune  ;  and  mark  me,  Molly,  no  flatter^'  now — nothing 
but  the  truth,  if  you  know  it." 

"Did  I  flatter _y^/^,  sir?" 

"  Upon  my  honor,  anything  but  that,  Molly  ;  and  all  I  ask 
is  that  you  won't  flatter  her.  Speak  the  truth,  as  I  said  be- 
fore, if  you  know  it." 

Miss  Folliard,  on  being  called  down  by  her  father  to  have 
her  fortune  told,  on  seeing  Molly,  drew  back  and  said, 

"Do  not  ask  me  to  come  in  direct  contact  with  this 
woman,  papa.  How  can  you,  for  one  moment,  imagine  that 
a  person  of  her  life  and  habits  could  be  gifted  with  that  which 
has  never  3'et  been  communicated  to  mortal  (the  holy  prophets 
excepted) — a  knowledge  of  futurity?" 

"No  matter,  my  darling,  no  matter;  give  her  your  hand; 
you  will  oblige  and  gratify  me."  • 

"  Here,  then,  dear  papa,  to  please  you — certainly." 

Molly  took  her  lovely  hand,  and  having  looked  into  it. 
said,  turning  to  the  squire,  "  It's  very  odd,  sir,  but  here's 
nearly  the  same  thing  that  I  tould  to  you  awhile  ago." 

"  Well,  Molly,"  said  he,  "  let  us  hear  it." 

Miss  Folliard  stood  with  her  snowy  hand  in  Aat  of  the 


WILL  Y  REIL  L  Y.  -gj 

fortune-teller,  perfectly  indifferent  to  her  art,  but  not  without 
strong  feelings  of  disgust  at  the  ordeal  to  which  she  sub- 
mitted. 

"Now,  Molly,"  said  the  squire,  "what  have  you  to  say?" 

"  Here's  love,"  she  replied,  "  love  in  the  wrong  direction — 
a  false  step  is  made  that  will  end  in  misery — and — and — 
and—" 

"And  what,  woman?"  asked  Miss  Folliard,  with  an  in- 
dignant glance  at  the  fortune-teller.  "  What  have  you  to 
add." 

"  No  ! "  said  she,  "  I  needn't  speak  it,  for  it  won't  come  to 
pass.  I  see  a  man  of  wealth  and  title  who  will  just  conie  in 
time  to  save  you  from  shame  and  destruction,  and  with  him 
you  will  be  happy." 

"  I  could  prove  to  you,"  replied  the  Cooleen  Bawn,  her 
face  mantling  with  blushes  of  indignation,  "  that  I  am  a  bet- 
ter prophetess  than  you  are.  Ask  her,  papa,  where  she  last 
came  from  ?" 

"  Where  did  you  come  from  last,  Molly  ? "  he  asked. 

"Why,  then,"  she  replied,  " from  Jemmy  Hamilton's  at 
the  foot  of  Cullamore." 

"False  prophetess,"  replied  the  Cooleen  Bawn,  "you  have 
told  an  untruth.     I  know  where  you  came  from  last." 

"Then  where  did  I  come  from,  Miss  Folliard?"  said  the 
woman,  with  unexpected  effrontery. 

"From  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,"  replied  Miss  Folliard, 
"and  the  wages  of  your  dishonesty  and  his  corruption  are  the 
sources  of  your  inspiration.     Take  the  woman  away,  papa." 

"That  will  do,  Molly — that  will  do,"  exclaimedthe  squire, 
"  there  is  something  additional  for  you.  What  you  have  told 
us  is  very  odd — very  odd,  indeed.  Go  and  get  your  dinner  in 
the  kitchen." 

Miss  Folliard  then  withdrew  to  her  own  room. 

Between  eleven  and  twelve  o'clock  that  night  a  carriage 
drew  up  at  the  grand  entrance  of  Corbo  Castle,  out  of  which 
stepped  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  and  no  less  a  personage  than 
the  Red  Rapparee.  They  approached  the  hall  door,  and 
after  giving  a  single  knock,  it  was  opened  to  them  by  the 
squire  himself,  who  it  would  seem  had  been  waiting  to  receive 
them  privately.     They  followed  him  in  silence  to  his  study. 

Mr.  Folliard,  though  a  healthy-looking  man,  was,  in  point 
of  fact,  by  no  means  so.  Of  a  nervous  and  plethoric  habit, 
though  brave,  and  even  intrepid,  yet  he  was  easily  affected  by 
anything  or  any  person  that  was  disagreeable  to  him.     On 


j{5  tVuLLY  REILLY. 

seeing  the  man  whose  hand  had  been  raised  against  his  life, 
and  what  was  still  more  atrocious,  whose  criminal  designs 
upon  the  honor  of  his  daughter  had  been  proved  by  his  vio- 
lent irruption  into  her  chamber,  he  felt  a  suffocating  sensa- 
tion of  rage  and  horror  that  nearly  overcame  him. 

"  Sir  Robert,"  he  said,  "  excuse  me  ;  the  sight  of  this  man 
has  sickened  me.  I  got  your  note,  and  in  your  society  and 
at  your  request  I  have  suffered  him  to  come  here  ;  under  your 
protection,  too.  May  God  forgive  it !  The  room  is  too  close 
— I  feel  unwell — pray  open  the  door." 

"Will  there  be  no  risk,  sir,  in  leaving  the  door  open?" 
said  the  baronet. 

"  None  in  the  world  !  I  have  sent  the  servants  all  to  bed 
nearly  an  hour  ago.  Indeed,  the  fact  is,  they  are  seldom  up 
so  late,  unless  when  I  have  company." 

Sir  Robert  then  opened  the  door — that  is  to  say,  he  left  it 
a  little  more  than  ajar,  and  returning  again  took  his  seat. 

"Don't  let  the  sight  o'f  me  frighten  you,"  said  the  Rap- 
paree.     "I  never  was  your  enemy  nor  intended  you  harm." 

"Frighten  me  J"  replied  the  courageous  old  squire;  "no, 
sir,  I  am  not  a  man  very  easily  frightened  ;  but  I  will  confess 
that  the  sight  of  you  has  sickened  me  and  filled  me  with 
horror." 

"Well,  now,  Mr.  Folliard,"  said  the  baronet,  "let  this  mat- 
ter, this  misunderstanding,  this  mistake,  or  rather  this  deep 
and  diabolical  plot  on  the  part  of  the  Jesuit,  Reilly,  be  at 
once  cleared  up.  We  wish,  that  is  to  say  I  wish,  to  prevent 
your  good  nature  from  being  played  upon  by  a  designing  vil- 
lain. Now,  O'Donnel,  relate,  or  rather  disclose,  candidly  and 
truly,  all  that  took  place  with  respect  to  this  damnable  plot 
between  you  and  Reilly." 

"Why,  the  thing,  sir,"  said  the  Rapparee.  addressing  him- 
self to  the  squire,  "is  very  plain  and  simple  ;  but,  Sir  Robert, 
it  was  not  a  plot  between  me  and  Reilly — the  plot  was  his 
own.  It  appears  that  he  saw  your  daughter  and  fell  desper- 
ately in  love  with  her,  and  knowin'  your  strong  feeling  against 
Catholics,  he  gave  up  all  hopes  of  being  made  acquainted 
with  Miss  Folliard,  or  of  getting  into  her  company.  Well,  sir, 
aware  that  vou  were  often  in  the  habit  of  goin'  to  the  town  of 
Boyle,  he  comes  to  me  and  says  in  the  early  part  of  the  day, 
'Randal,  I  will  give  you  fifty  goolden  guineas  if  you  help  me 
in  a  plan  I  have  in  'my  head.'  Now.  tifty  goolden  guineas 
isn't  easilv  earned  ;  so  I.  not  knowing  what  the  plan  was  at 
the  time-  tould  him  1  could  say  nothing  till  I  heard  it.     He 


WILL  Y  REILL  Y.  -^ 

then  tould  me  that  he  was  over  head  and  ears  in  love  with 
your  daughter,  and  that  have  her  he  should  if  it  cost  him  his 
life.  'Well,'  says  I,  'and  how  can  I  help  you?'  'Why,'  said 
he,  'I'll  show  you  that:  her  oiild  persecuting  scoundrel  of  a 
father' — excuse  me,  sir — I'm  givin'  his  own  words — " 

"I  believe  it,  Mr.  Folliard,"  said  the  baronet,  "for  these 
are  the  identical  terms  in  which  he  told  me  the  story  before; 
proceed,  O'Donnel." 

'"The  ould  scoundrel  of  a  father,'  says  he,  'on  his  return 
from  Boyle,  generally  comes  by  the  ould  road,  because  it  is 
the  shortest  cut.  Do  you  and  your  men  lie  in  wait  in  the 
ruins  of  the  ould  chapel,  near  Loch  na  Garrati ' — it  is  called 
so,  sir,  because  they  say  there's  a  wild  horse  in  it  that  comes 
out  of  moonlight  nights  to  feed  on  the  patches  of  green  that 
are  here  and  there  among  the  moors — 'nearZ^r/;  na  Garran' 
says  he  ;  '  and  when  he  gets  that  far  turn  out  upon  him,  charge 
him  with  transportin'  your  uncle,  and  when  you  are  levellin' 
your  gun  at  him,  I  will  come,  by  the'  way,  and  save  him.  You 
and  I  must  speak  angry  to  one  another,  you  know ;  then,  of 
course,  I  must  see  him  home,  and  he  can't  do  less  than  ask 
me  to  dine  with  him.  At  all  events,  thinkin'  that  I  saved  his 
life,  we  will  become  acquainted.' " 

The  squire  paused  and  mused  for  some  time,  and  then 
asked,  "  Was  there  no  more  than  this  between  you  and  him?  " 

"  Nothing  more,  sir." 

"And  tell  me.  did  he  pay  you  the  money  ?  " 

"Here  it  is,"  replied  the  Kapparee,  pulling  out  a  rag  in 
which  were  the  precise  number  of  guineas  mentioned. 

"But,''  said  the  squire,  "we  lost  our  way  in  the  fog." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  the  Rapparee.  "  Everything  turned  out 
in  his  favor.  That  made  very  little  difference.  You  would 
have  been  attacked  in  or  about  that  place,  whether  or  not." 

"Yes,  but  did  you  not  attack  my  house  that  night?"  Did 
not  you  yourself  come  down  by  the  skylight,  and  enter  by  vio- 
lence, into  my  daughter's  apartment?" 

"  Well,  when  I  heard  of  that,  sir,  I  said,  '  I  give  Reilly 
up  for  ingenuity.'  No,  sir,  that  was  his  own  trick  ;  but 
afther  all  it  was  a  bad  one,  and  tells  aginst  itself.  Why,  sir, 
neither  I  nor  any  of  my  men  have  the  power  of  makin'  our- 
selves invisible.  Do  you  think,  sir — I  put  it  to  your  own 
common-sense — that  if  we  had  been  there  no  one  would  have 
seen  us?  Wasn't  the  whole  country  for  miles  round  searched 
and  scoured,  and  I  ask  you,  sir,  was  there  hilt  or  hair  of  me 
or  any  one  of  my  men  seen  or  even  heard  of  ?     Sir  Robert,  I 


38  WILLY  REILLY. 

must  be  going  now,"  he  added.  "  I  hope  Squire  Folliard  un- 
derstands what  kind  of  a  man  Reilly  is.  As  for  myself,  I 
have  nothing  more  to  say," 

"  Don't  go  yet,  O'Donnel,"  said  Whitecraft ;  *''  ict  us  de- 
termine what  is  to  be  done  with  him.  You  see  clearly  it  is 
necessary,  Mr.  Folliard,  that  this  deep-designing  Jesuit  should 
be  sent  out  of  the  country." 

"  I  would  give  half  my  estate  he  was  fairly  out  of  it," 
said  the  squire.  "  He  has  brought  calamity  and  misery  into 
my  familv.  Created  world  !  how  I  and  mine  have  been  de- 
ceived and  imposed  upon  !  Away  with  him — a  thousand 
leagues  away  with  him  !  And  that  quickly  too  !  Oh,  the 
plausible,  deceitful  villain  !  My  child  !  my  child  !  "  and  here 
the  old  man  burst  into  tears  of  the  bitterest  indignation.  "  Sir 
Robert,  that  cursed  villain  was  born,  I  fear,  to  be  the  shame 
and  destruction  of  my  house  and  name." 

"  Don't  dream  of  such  a  thing,"  said  the  baronet.  "  On 
the  day  he  dined  here — and  you  cannot  forget  my  strong  dis- 
inclination to  meet  him — but  even  on  that  day  you  will  rec- 
ollect the  treasonable  language  he  used  against  the  laws  of 
the  realm.  After  my  return  home  I  took  a  note  of  them,  and 
I  trust  that  you,  sir,  will  corroborate,  with  respect  to  this  fact, 
the  testimony  which  it  is  my  purpose  to  give  against  him.  1 
say  this  the  rather,  Mr.  Folliard,  because  it  might  seriously 
compromise  your  own  character  vdth  the  Government,  and  as 
a  magistrate,  too,  to  hear  treasonable  and  seditious  language 
at  your  own  table,  from  a  Papist  Jesuit,  and  yet  decline  to  re- 
port it  to  the  authorities." 

"  The  laws,  the  authorities,  and  you  be  hanged,  sir  !  "  re- 
plied the  squire  ;  "  my  table  is,  and  has  been,  and  ever  shall 
be,  the  altar  of  confidence  to  my  guests  ;  I  shall  never  violate 
the  laws  of  hospitality.  Treat  the  man  fairly,  I  say,  concoct 
no  plot  against  him,  bribe  no  false  witnesses,  and  if  he  is 
justly  amenable  to  the  law  I  will  spend  ten  thousand  pounds 
to  have  him  sent  anywhere  out  of  the  country-" 

"He  keeps  arms,"  observed  Sir  Robert,  "  contrary  to  the 
penal  enactments." 

"  I  think  not,"  said  the  squire  ;  "  he  told  me  he  was  on  a 
duck-shooting  expedition  that  night,  and  when  I  asked  him 
where  he  got  his  arms,  he  said  that  his  neighbor.  Bob  Gosford, 
always  lent  him  his  gun  whenever  he  felt  disposed  to  shoot, 
and,  to  my  own  knowledge,  so  did  many  other  Protestant 
magistrates  i"  the  neighborhood,  for  "^his  wily  Jesuit  is  a 
favorite  with  most  of  then'  " 


WILL  Y  REILL  Y.  -*^« 

"  But  I  know  where  he  has  arms  concealed,"  said  the 
Rapparee,  looking  significantly  at  the  baronet,  "and  I  will  be 
able  to  find  them,  too,  when  the  proper  time  comes." 

''  Ha !  indeed.  O'Donnel,"  said  Sir  Robert,  with  well- 
feigned  surprise  ;  ''  then  there  will  be  no  lack  of  proof  against 
him,  you  may  rest  assured,  Mr,  Folliard;  I  charge  myself 
with  the  management  of  the  whole  affair.  I  trust,  sir,  you 
will  leave  it  to  nie,  and  I  have  only  one  favor  to  ask,  and  that 
is  the  hand  of  your  fair  daughter  when  he  is  disposed  of." 

"  She  shall  be  yours,  Sir  Robert,  the  moment  that  this 
treacherous  villain  can  be  removed  by  the  fair  operation  of  the 
laws  ;  but  I  will  never  sanction  any  dishonorable  treatment 
towards  him.  By  the  laws  of  the  land  let  him  stand  or  fall." 
At  this  moment  a  sneeze  of  tremendous  strength  and 
loudness  was  heard  immediately  outside  the  door  ;  a  sneeze 
which  made  the  hair  of  the  baronet  almost  stand  on  end. 

"  What  the  devil  is  that  ?  "  asked  the  squire.  "  By  the 
great  Boyne,  I  fear  some  one  has  been  listening  after  all." 

The  Rapparee,  always  apprehensive  of  the  "  authorities," 
started  behind  a  screen,  and  the  baronet,  although  uncon- 
scious of  any  cause  for  terror,  stood  rather  undecided. 
The  sneeze,  however,  was  repeated,  and  this  time  it  was  a 
double  one. 

"  Curse  it.  Sir  Robert,"  said  the  squire,  "have  you  not 
the  use  of  your  legs  .''  Go  and  see  whether  there  has  been 
an  eavesdropper." 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Folliard,"  replied  the  doughty  baronet,  "  but 
your  house  has  the  character  of  being  haunted  ;  and  I  iiave  a 
terror  of  ghosts." 

The  squire  himself  got  up,  and,  seizing  a  candle,  went 
outside  the  door,  but  nothing  in  human  shape  was  visible. 

"  Come  here,  Sir  Robert,"  said  he,  "  that  sneeze  came 
from  no  ghost,  I'll  swear.  Who  ever  heard  of  a  ghost  sneez- 
ing .!*  Never  mind,  thougli  ;  fur  the  curiosity  of  the  thing  I 
will  examine  for  myself,  and  return  to  you  in  a  few  minutes." 
He  accordingly  left  them,  and  in  a  short  time  came  back, 
assuring  them  that  everyone  in  the  house  was  in  a  state  of 
the  most  profound  repose,  and  that  it  was  his  opinion  it  must 
have  been  a  cat. 

*'  I  might  think  so  myself,"  observed  the  baronet,  "were 
it  not  for  the  double  sneeze.  I  am  afraid,  Mr.  Folliard,  that 
the  report  is  too  true — and  that  the  house  is  haunted, 
O'Donnel,   you  must  come  home  with  me  to-night." 

O'Donnelj    who  entertained  no  apprehension  of  ghosts, 


^^  WILLY  REILLY. 

findin"-  that  the  "  authorities  "  were  not  in  question,  agreed 
to  go'^with  him,  although  he  had  a  small  matter  on  hand 
which  required  his  presence  in  another  part  of  the  country. 

The  baronet,  however,  had  gained  his  point.  The  heart 
of  the  hasty  and  unreflecting  squire  had  been  poisoned,  and 
not  one  shadow  of  doubt  remained  on  his  mind  of  Reilly's 
treachery.  And  that  which  convinced  him  beyond  all  argu- 
ments or  assertions  was  the  fact  that  on  the  night  of  the  p- e.- 
meditated  attack  on  his  house  not  one  of  the  Red  Rapparees 
ganw  vvas  seen   or  any  trace  of  them  discovered. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE    WARNING — AN   ESCAPE. 


Reiliv.  in  the  mean  time,  was  not  insensible  to  his 
danger.  About  eleven  o'clock  the  next  day,  as  he  was  walk- 
incr'in  his  garden,  Tom  Steeple  made  his  appearance,  and 
apVoached  him  with  a  look  of  caution  and  significance. 
"  Well,  Tom,''  said  he,  "'  what's  the  news  .'  " 
Tom  made  no  reply,  but  catching  him  gently  by  the  sleeve 
of  his  coat,  said,  "  Come  wid  Tom  ;  Tom  has  news  for  you. 
Here  it  is.  in  de  paper  ;  '  and  as  he  spoke,  he  handed  him  i 
letter,  the  contents  of  which  we  give: 

"  Dearest  Reilly  :  The  dreadful  discovery  I  have  made, 
the  danger  and  treachery  and  vengeance  by  which  you  are 
surrounded,  but,  above  all,  my  inexpressible  love  for  you,  will 
surely  justifv  me  in  not  losing  a  moment  to  write  to  you  ;  and 
I  select  this  poor  creature  as  my  messenger  because  he  is 
least  likely  to  be  suspected.  It  is  through  him  that  the  dis- 
covery of 'the  accursed  plot  against  you  has  been  made.  Il 
appears  that  he  slept  in  the  castle  last  night,  as  he  often  does, 
and  having  observed  Sir  Thomas  Whitecraft  and  that  terrible 
man,  the  Red  Rapparee,  coming  into  the  house,  and  going 
along  with  papa  into  his  study,  evidently  upon  some  private 
business,  he  resolved  to  listen.  He  did  so,  and  overheard 
the  Rapparee  stating  to  papa  that  everything  which  took 
place  on  the  evening  you  saved  his  life  and  frustrated  his 
other  designs  upon  tlie  castle,  was  a  plan  preconcerted  by 


WILL  \ '  REILL  Y.  -^ 

you  for  the  purpose  of  making  papa's  acquaintance  and  get- 
ting introduced  to  the  family  in  order  to  gain  my  affections. 
Alas  !  if  you  have  resorted  to  such  a  plan,  you  have  but  too 
well  succeeded.  Do  not,  however,  for  one  moment  imagine 
that  I  yield  any  credit  to  this  atrocious  falsehood.  It  has 
been  concocted  by  your  base  and  unmanly  rival,  Whitecraft, 
by  whom  all  the  proceedings  against  you  are  to  be  conducted. 
Some  violation  of  the  penal  laws,  in  connection  with  carrying 
or  keeping  arms,  is  to  be  brought  against  you,  and  unless  you 
are  on  your  guard  you  will  be  arrested  and  thrown  into  prison, 
and  if  not  convicted  of  a  capital  offence  and  executed  like  a 
felon,  you  will  at  least  be  sent  forever  out  of  the  country. 
What  is  to  be  done.''  If  you  have  arms  in  or  about  your 
house  let  them  be  forthwith  removed  to  some  place  of  con- 
cealment. The  Rapparee  is  to  get  a  pardon  from  govern- 
ment, at  least  he  is  promised  it  by  Sir  Robert,  if  he  turns 
against  you.  In  one  word,  dearest  Reilly,  you  cannot,  with 
safety  to  your  life,  remain  in  this  country.  You  must  fly 
from  it,  and  immediately  too.  I  wish  to  see  you.  Come  this 
night,  at  half-past  ten,  to  the  back  gate  of  our  garden,  which 
you  will  find  shut,  but  unlocked.  Something — is  it  my  heart? 
— tells  me  that  our  fates  are  henceforth  inseparable,  whether 
for  joy  or  sorrow.  I  ought  to  tell  you  that  I  confessed  my 
affection  for  you  to  papa  on  the  evening  you  dined  here,  and 
he  was  not  angry ;  but  this  morning  he  insisted  that  I  should 
never  think  of  you  moie,  nor  mention  your  name;  and  he 
says  that  if  the  laws  can  do  it  he  will  lose  ten  thousand 
pounds  or  he  will  have  you  sent  out  of  the  country.  Lanigan, 
our  cook,  from  what  motive  I  know  not,  mentioned  to  me  the 
substance  of  what  I  have  now  written.  He  is,  it  seems,  a 
cousin  to  the  bearer  of  this,  and  got  the  information  from  him 
after  having  had  much  difficulty,  he  says,  in  putting  it  to- 
gether. I  know  not  how  it  is,  but  I  can  assure  you  that  every 
servant  in  the  castle  seems  to  know  th?t  I  am  attached  to  you. 
"  Ever,  my  dearest  Reilly,  yours,  and  yours  only,  until 
death,  Helen  Folliard." 

We  need  not  attempt  to  describe  the  sensations  of  lo\'e 
and  indignation  produced  by  this  letter.  But  we  shall  sia.e 
the  facts. 

"  Here,  Tom,"  said  Reilly,  "is  the  reward  for  your  fidel- 
ity," as  he  handed  him  some  silver;  ''and  mark  me,  Tom, 
don't  breathe  to  a  human  being  that  you  have  brought  me  a 
letter  from  the  Coolccn  Bawn.     Go  into   the  house  and  get 


A2  WILL  Y  KEILL  Y. 

something  to  eat ;  there  now — go  and  get  one  of  your  bully 
dinners," 

"  It  is  true,"  said  he,  "  too  true  I  am  doomed — devoted. 
If  I  remain  in  this  country  I  am  lost.  Yes,  my  life,  my  love, 
my  more  than  life — I  feel  as  you  do,  that  our  fates,  whether 
for  good  or  evil,  are  inseparable.  Yes,  I  shall  see  you  this 
night  if  I  have  life." 

He  had  scarcely  concluded  this  soliloquy  when  his  name- 
sake, Fergus  Reilly,  disguised  in  such  a  way  as  prevented 
him  from  being  recognized,  approached  him,  in  the  lowly  garb 
of  a  baccah  or  mendicant. 

"  Well,  my  good  fellow,"  said  he,  "  what  do  you  want? 
Go  up  to  the  house  and  you  will  get  food." 

"  Keep  quiet,"  replied  the  other,  disclosing  himself, 
"  keep  quiet ;  get  all  your  money  into  one  purse,  settle  your 
affairs  as  quickly  as  you  can,  and  fly  the  country  this  night, 
or  otherwise  sit  down  and  make  your  will  and  your  peace 
with  God  Almighty,  for  if  you  are  found  here  by  to-morrow 
night  you  sleep  in  Sligo  jail.  Throw  me  a  few  half-pence, 
making  as  it  were  charity.  Whitecraft  has  spies  among  your 
own  laborers,  and  you  know  the  danger  I  run  in  comin'  to 
you  by  daylight.  Indeed,  I  could  not  do  it  without  this 
disguise.  To  morrow  night  you  are  to  be  taken  upon  a 
warrant  from  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  ;  but  never  mind  ;  as  to 
Whitecraft,  leave  him  to  me — I  have  a  crow  to  pluck  with 
h  m." 

"  How  is  that,  Fergus  ?  " 

"  My  sister,  man  ;  did  you  not  hear  of  it  t  " 

"  No,  Fergus,  nor  I  don't  wish  to  hear  of  it,  for  your  sake  ; 
spare  your  feelings,  my  poor  fellow  ;  I  know  perfectly  well 
what  a  hypocritical  scoundrel  he  is." 

"  Well,"  replied  Fergus,  "  it  was  only  yesterday  I  heard 
of  it  myself  ;  and  are  we  to  bear  this  ? — we  that  have  hands 
and  eyes  and  limbs  and  hearts  and  courage  to  stand  nobly 
upon  the  gallows-tree  for  striking  down  the  \illain  who  does 
whatever  he  likes,  and  then  threatens  us  with  the  laws  of  the 
land  if  we  murmur  ?    Do  you  think  this  is  to  be  borne  .'' " 

"Take  not  vengeance  into  your  own  hand,  Fergus," 
replied  Reilly,  "for  that  is  contrary  to  the  laws  of  God  and 
man.  As  for  mc,  I  agree  with  you  that  I  cannot  remain  in 
this  country.  I  know  the  vast  influence  which  Whitecraft  pos- 
sesses with  the  government.  Against  such  a  man  I  have  no 
chance  ;  this,  taken  in  connection,  with  my  education  abroad, 
is   quite   sufficient   to   make    me  a   marked   and   suspected 


WILLY  RE  ILLY 


93 


man.  I  will  therefore  leave  the  country,  and  ere  to  morrow 
night,  I  trust,  I  shall  be  beyond  his  reach.  But,  Fergus, 
listen  :  leave  Whitecraft  to  God ;  do  not  stain  your  soul 
with  human  blood  ;  keeo  a  pure  heart,  and  whatever  may 
happen,  be  able  to  look  up  to  the  Almighty  with  a  clear  con- 
science." 

Fergus  then  left  him;  but  with  a  resolution,  nevertheless, 
to  have  vengeance  upon  the  baronet  very  unequivocally  ex- 
pressed on  his  countenance. 

Having  seriously  considered  his  position  and  all  the  cir- 
cumstances of  danger  connected  with  it,  Reilly  resolved  that 
his  interview  that  night  with  his  beloved  Coolceti  Bawn  should 
be  his  last.  He  accordingly  communicated  his  apprehensions 
to  an  aged  uncle  of  his  who  resided  with  him,  and  entrusted 
the  management  of  his  property  to  him  until  some  change  for 
the  better  might  take  place.  Having  heard  from  Fergus 
Reilly  that  there  were  spies  among  his  own  laborers,  he  kept 
moving  about  and  making  such  observations  as  he  could  for 
the  remainder  of  the  day.  When  the  night  came  he  prepared 
himself  for  his  appointment,  and  at,  or  rather  before,  the 
hour  of  half-past  ten,  he  had  reached  the  back  gate,  or  rather 
door  of  the  garden  attached  to  Corbo  Castle.  Having 
ascertained  that  it  was  unlocked,  he  entered  with  no  diffi- 
culty, and  traversed  the  garden  without  being  able  to  per- 
ceive her  whose  love  was  now,  it  might  be  said,  all  that  life 
had  left  him.  After  having  satisfied  himself  that  she  was 
not  in  the  garden,  he  withdrew  to  an  arbor  or  summer-house 
of  evergreens,  where  he  resolved  to  await  until  she  should 
come.  He  did  not  wait  long.  The  latch  of  the  entrance 
gate  from  the  front  made  a  noise  ;  ah,  how  his  heart  beat  I 
what  a  commotion  agitated  his  whole  frame  !  In  a  few  mo- 
ments she  was  with  him. 

"  Reilly,"  said  Cooleen  Bawn,  "  I  have  dreadful  news  to 
communicate." 

"  I  know  all,"  said  he  ;  "I  am  to  be  arrested  to-morrow 
night." 

"To-night,  dearest  Reilly,  to-night.  Papa  told  me  this 
evening,  in  one  of  his  moods  of  anger,  that  before  to-morrow 
morning  you  would  be  in  Sligo  jail." 

"Well,  dearest  Helen,"  he  replied,  "that  is  certainly 
making  quick  work  of  it.  But,  even  so,  I  am  prepared  this 
moment  to  escape.  I  have  settled  my  affairs,  left  the  man- 
agement of  them  to  my  uncle,  and  this  interview  with  you,  my 
beloved  girl,  must  be  our  last." 


g^  WILL  Y  REILL  Y. 

As  he  uttered  these  melancholy  words  the  tears  came  to 
his  eyes. 

"The  last!"  she  exclaimed.  "Oh,  no;  it  must  not  be 
the  last.  You  shall  not  go  alone,  dearest  William.  My 
mind  is  made  up.  Be  it  for  life  or  for  death,  I  shall  accom- 
pany you." 

"  Dearest  life,"  he  replied,  "think  of  the  consequences." 

"  I  think  of  nothing,"  said  Cooleen  Binvn,  "  but  my  love 
for  you.  If  you  were  not  surrounded  by  danger  as  you  are, 
if  the  whoop  of  vengeance  were  not  on  your  trail,  if  death 
and  a  gibbet  were  not  in  the  background,  I  could  part  with 
you  ;  but  now  that  danger,  vengeance,  and  death,  are  hover- 
ing about  you,  I  shall  and  must  partake  of  them  with  you. 
And  listen,  Reilly  ;  after  all  it  is  the  best  plan.  Papa,  if  I 
accompany  you — supposing  that  we  are  taken — will  relent  for 
my  sake.  I  know  his  love  for  me.  His  affection  for  me  will 
overcome  all  his  prejudices  against  you.  Then  let  us  fly. 
To-night  you  will  be  taken.  Your  rival  will  triumph  over 
both  of  us  ;  and  I — I,  oh  !  I  shall  not  survive  it.  Save  me, 
then,  Reilly,  and  let  me  fly  with  you." 

"  God  knows,"  replied  Reilly,  with  deep  euiotion,  "  if  I 
suffered  myself  to  be  guided  by  the  impulse  of  my  heart,  I 
would  yield  to  wishes  at  once  so  noble  and  disinterested.  I 
cannot,  however,  suffer  my  affection,  absorbing  and  inexpres- 
sible as  it  is,  to  precipitate  your  ruin.  I  speak  not  of  my- 
self, nor  of  what  I  may  suffer.  When  we  reflect,  however, 
my  beloved  girl,  upon  the  state  of  the  country,  and  of  the 
law,  as  it  operates  against  the  liberty  and  property  of  Cath- 
olics, we  must  both  admit  the  present  impossibility  of  an 
elopement  without  involving  5'ou  in  disgrace.  You  know 
that  until  some  relaxation  of  the  laws  affecting  marriage  be- 
tween Catholics  and  Protestants  takes  place,  an  union  be- 
tween us  is  impossible  ;  and  this  fact  it  is  which  would  at- 
tach disgrace  to  you,  and  a  want  of  honor,  principle,  and 
gratitude  to  me.  We  should  necessarily  lead  the  lives 
of  the  guilty,  and  seek  the  wildest  fastnesses  of  the  moun- 
tain solitudes  and  the  oozy  caverns  of  the  bleak  and  solitary 
hills." 

"  But  I  care  not.  I  am  willing  to  endure  it  all  for  your 
sake." 

"  What ! — the  shame,  the  misinterpretation,  the  imputed 
guilt  ? " 

"  Neither  care  I  for  shame  or  imputed  guilt,  so  long  as  I 
am  innocent,  and  you  safe." 


WILLY  REILLY. 


95 


"  Concealment,  my  dearest  girl,  would  be  impossible. 
Such  a  hue  and  cry  would  be  raised  after  us  as  would  render 
nothing  short  of  positive  invisibility  capable  of  protecting  us 
from  our  enemies.  Then  your  father  ! — such  a  step  might 
possiblv  :  leak  his  heart;  a  calamity  which  would  fill  your 
mind  with  remorsi-  to  the  last  day  of  your  life  !" 

She  burst  ayaiii  into  tears,  and  replied,  "  But  as  for  you, 
what  can  be  iXono.  to  save  you  from  the  toils  of  your  unscrup- 
ulous and  I  owHi-ful  enemies?" 

"To  th  !,  my  beloved  Helen,  I  must  forthwith  look.  In 
the  mean  time,  let  me  gather  patience  and  await  some  more 
favorable  relaxation  in  the  penal  code.  At  present,  the  step 
you  propose  would  be  utter  destruction  to  us  both,  and  an 
irretrievable  stain  upon  our  reputation.  You  will  return  to 
your  father's  house,  and  I  shall  seek  some  secure  place  of 
concealment  until  I  can  safely  reach  the  continent,  from 
whence  I  shall  contrive  to  let  you  hear  from  me,  and  in  due 
time  may  possibly  be  able  to  propose  some  mode  of  meeting 
in  a  country  where  the  oppressive  laws  that  separate  us  here 
shall  not  stand  in  the  way  of  our  happiness.  In  the  mean 
time,  let  our  hearts  be  guided  by  hope  and  constancy." 
After  a  mournful  and  tender  embrace  they  separated. 

It  would  be  impossible  to  describe  the  agony  of  the  lovers 
after  a  separation  which  might  probably  be  their  last.  Our 
readers,  however,  may  very  well  conceive  it,  and  it  is  not  our 
intention  to  describe  it  here.  At  this  stage  of  our  story, 
Reilly,  who  was,  as  we  have  said,  in  consequence  of  his  gen- 
tlemanly manners  and  liberal  principles,  a  favorite  with  all 
classes  and  all  parties,  and  entertained  no  apprehensions  from 
the  dominant  party,  took  his  way  homeward  deeply  impressed 
with  the  generous  affections  which  his  Coolcen  Baton  had  ex- 
pressed for  him.  He  consequently  looked  upon  himself  as 
perfectly  safe  in  his  own  house.  The  state  of  society  in  Ire- 
land, however,  was  at  that  melancholy  period  so  uncertain 
that  no  Roman  Catholic,  however  popular,  or  however  inno- 
cent, could  for  one  week  calculate  upon  safety  either  to  his 
property  or  person,  if  he  happened  to  have  an  enemy  who 
possessed  any  influence  in  the  opposing  Church.  Religion 
thus  was  made  the  stalking-horse,  not  only  of  power,  but  of 
persecution,  rapacity,  and  selfishness,  and  the  unfortunate 
Roman  Catholic  who  considered  himself  safe  to-day  might 
find  himself  ruined  to-morrow,  owing  to  the  cupidity  of  some 
man  who  turned  a  lustful  eye  upon  his  property,  or  who  may 
have  entertained  a  feeling  of  personal  ill-will  against  him.    Be 


o6  WILLY  REILLY. 

this  as  it  may,  Reilly  wended  his  melancholy  way  homewards, 
and  had  got  within  less  than  a  quarter  of  a  mile  of  his  own 
house  when  he  was  met  by  Fergus  in  his  mendicant  habit,  who 
startled  him  by  the  information  he  disclosed. 

"  Where  are  you  bound  for,  Mr.  Reilly,"  said  the  latter. 
"  For  home,"  replied  Reilly,  "  in  order  to  secure  my  money 
and  the  papers  connected  with  the  family  property." 

"  Well,  then,"  said  the  other,  "  if  you  go  home  now  you  are 
a  lost  man." 

"  How  is  that  ? "  asked  Reilly. 

"  Your  house  at  this  moment  is  filled  with  sogers,  and 
surrounded  by  them  too.  You  know  that  no  human  being 
could  make  me  out  in  this  disguise  ;  I  had  heard  that  they 
were  on  their  way  to  your  place,  and  afeered  that  they  might 
catch  you  at  home,  I  was  goin'  to  let  you  know,  in  ordher 
that  you  might  escape  them,  but  I  was  too  late  ;  the  villains 
were  there  before  me.  I  took  heart  o'  grace,  however,  and 
went  up  to  beg  a  little  charity  for  the  love  and  honor  of  God. 
Seein'  the  kind  of  creature  I  was,  they  took  no  notice  of  me  ; 
for  to  tell  you  the  truth  they  were  too  much  bent  on  searchin' 
for,  and  findin'  you.  God  protect  us  from  such  men,  Mr. 
Reilly,"  and  the  name  he  uttered  in  a  low,  cautious  voice  ; 
"but' at  all  events  this  is  no  country  for  you  to  live  in  now. 
But  who  do  you  think  was  the  busiest  and  the  bitterest  man 
among  them  ? " 

"  Why,  Whitecraft,  I  suppose." 

"  No  ;  he  wasn't  there  himself — no  ;  but  that  double-dis- 
tilled traitor  and  villain,  the  Red  Rapparee,  and  bad  luck  to 
him.  You  see,  then,  that  if  you  attempt  to  go  near  your  own 
house  you're  a  lost  man,  as  I  said." 

"  I  feel  the  truth  of  what  you  say,"  replied  Reilly,  "  but 
are  you  aware  that  they  committed  any  acts  of  violence?  Are 
you  aware  that  they  disturbed  my  property  or  ransacked  my 
house  ?  " 

"  Well,  that's  more  than  I  can  say/'  replied  Fergus,  "  for 
to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  was  afraid  to  trust  myself  inside,  in 
regard  of  that  scoundrel  the  Rapparee,  who,  bein'  himself 
accustomed  to  all  sorts  of  disguises,  I  dreaded  might  find  me 

out."  ,      , 

"Well,  at  all  events,"  said  Reilly,  "with  respect  to  that  I 
disregard  them.  The  family  papers  and  other  available  prop- 
erty are  too  well  secreted  for  them  to  secure  them.  On  dis- 
covering Whitecraft's  jealousy,  and  knowing,  as  I  did  before, 
bis  vindictive  spirit  and  power  in  the  country,  I  lost  no  time 


WlUA'  kETLLY.  97 

!h  putting  them  in  a  safe  place.  Unless  they  burn  (he  house 
they  could  never  come  at  them.  But  as  this  fact  is  not  at  all 
an  improbable  one — so  long  as  Whitecraft  is  my  unscrupu- 
lous and  relentless  enemy — I  shall  seize  upon  the  first  oppor- 
tunity of  placing  them  elsewhere." 

"'You  ought  to  do  so,"  said  Fergus,  "  for  it  is  not  merely 
Whitecraft  you  have  to  deal  wid,  but  ould  Folliard  himself, 
who  now  swears  if  he  should  lose  half  his  fortune  he  will 
either  hang  or  transport  you." 

"  Ah  !  Fergus,"  replied  the  other,  "  there  is  an  essential 
difference  between  the  characters  of  these  two  men.  The 
father  of  Coolcen  Biuun  is,  when  he  thinks  himself  injured, 
impetuous  and  unsparing  in  his  resentment ;  but  then  he  is 
an  open  foe,  and  the  man  whom  he  looks  upon  as  his  enemy 
always  knows  what  he  has  to  expect  from  him.  Not  so  the 
other  ;  he  is  secret,  cautious,  cowardly,  and  consequently 
doubly  vindictive.  He  is  a  combination  of  the  fox  and  the 
tiger,  with  all  the  treacherous  cunning  of  the  one,  and  the  in- 
domitable ferocity  of  the  other,  when  he  finds  that  he  can 
make  his  spring  with  safety." 

This  conversation  took  place  as  Reilly  and  his  companion 
bent  their  steps  towards  one  of  those  antiquated  and  obsolete 
roads  which  we  have  described  in  the  opening  portion  of  this 
narrative. 

"But  now,"  asked  Fergus,  "  where  do  you  intend  to  go,  or 
what  do  you  intend  to  do  with  yourself  ?  " 

"I  scarcely  know,"  replied  Reilly,  "but  on  one  thing  my 
mind  is  determined — that  I  will  not  leave  this  country  until 
I  know  the  ultimate  fate  of  the  Coolcen  Baivn.  Rather  than 
see  her  become  the  wife  of  that  diabolical  scoundrel,  whom 
she  detests  as  she  does  hell,  I  would  lose  my  life.  Let  the 
consequences  then  be  what  they  may,  I  will  not  for  the  present 
leave  Ireland.  This  resolution  I  have  come  to  since  I  saw 
her  to-night.  I  am  her  only  friend,  and,  so  help  me  God,  I 
shall  not  suffer  her  to  be  sacrificed — murdered.  In  the  course 
of  the  night  we  shall  return  to  my  house  and  look  about  us. 
If  the  coast  be  clear,  I  will  secure  my  cash  and  papers,  as  I 
said.  It  is  possible  that  a  few  stragglers  may  lurk  behind, 
under  the  expectation  of  securing  me  while  making  a  stolen 
visit.  However,  we  shall  try.  We  are  under  the  scourge  of 
irresponsible  power,  Fergus  ;  and  if  Whitecraft  should  burn 
my  house  to  night  or  to-morrow,  who  is  to  bring  iiim  to  an 
account  for  it  1  or  if  they  should,  who  is  to  convict  him  .' " 

The  night  had  now  become  very  dark,  but  they  knew  tha 


gS  WILLY  R EI LLY. 

country  well,  and  soon  found  themselves  upon  the  old  road 
they  were  seeking. 

"  I  will  go  up,"  said  Reilly,  "  to  the  cabin  of  poor  widow 
Buckley,  where  we  will  stop  until  we  think  those  bloodhounds 
have  gone  home.  She  has  a  free  cottage  and  garden  from 
me,  and  has  besides  been  a  pensioner  of  mine  for  some  time 
back,  and  I  know  I  can  depend  upon  her  discretion  and 
fidelity.  Her  little  place  is  remote  and  solitary,  and  not  more 
than  three-quarters  of  a  mile  from  us." 

They  accordingly  kept  the  old  road  for  some  time,  until 
they  reached  a  point  of  it  where  there  was  an  abrupt  angle, 
when,  to  their  utter  alarm  and  consternation,  they  found 
themselves  within  about  twenty  or  thirty  yards  of  a  military 
party. 

"  Fly,"  whispered  Fergus,  "  and  leave  me  to  deal  with 
them — if  you  don't,  it's  all  up  with  you.  They  won't  know  me 
from  Adam,  but  they'll  know  you  at  a  glance." 

"  I  cannot  leave  you  in  danger,"  said  Reilly. 

"  You're  mad,"  replied  the  other.  "  Is  it  an  ould  beggar- 
man  they'd  meddle  with  t  Off  with  you,  unless  you  wish  to 
sleep  in  Sligo  jail  before  mornin'." 

Reillv,  who  felt  too  deeply  the  truth  of  what  he  said, 
bounded  across  the  bank  which  enclosed  the  road  on  the 
right-hand  side,  and  which,  by  the  way,  was  a  tolerably  high 
one,  but  fortunately  without  bushes.  In  the  mean  time  a  voice 
cried  out,  "  Who  goes  there  ?  Stand,  at  your  peril,  or  you 
will  have  a  dozen  bullets  in  your  carcase." 

Fergus  advanced  towards  them,  whilst  they  themselves 
approached  him  at  rapid  pace,  until  they  met.  In  a  moment 
they  were  all  about  him. 

"  Come,  my  customer,"  said  the  leader,  "  who  and  what 
are  you  ?     Quick — give  an  account  of  yourself." 

"  A  poor  creature  that's  lookin'  for  my  bit,  sir,  God  help 
me." 

"  What's  your  name  .-'  " 

"  One  Paddy  Brennan,  sir,  please  your  honor," 

"Ay — one  Paddy  Brennan  (hiccough),  and — and — one 
Paddy  Brennan,  where  do  you  go  of  a  Sunday.'"' 

"  I  don't  go  out  at  all,  sir,  of  a  Sunda'  ;  wherever  I  stop 
of  a  Saturday  night  I  always  stop  until  Monday  mornin'." 

"  I  mean,  are  you  a  Papish .-'  " 

"Troth  I  oughtn't  to  say  I  am,  your  honor — or  at  least  a 
very  bad  one." 

"  But  you  are  a  Papish." 


IV/LL  Y  RRTLL  Y.  aq 

"A  kind  of  one,  sir." 

"Curse  me,  the  fellow's  hunibuggin'  you,  sergeant,"  said 
one  of  the  men  ;  "  to.  be  sure  he's  a  Papish." 

To  be  sure,"  replied  several  of  the  others — "  doesn't  he 
admit  he's  a  Papish  ?  " 

"Blow  me,  if — if — I'll  bear  this,"  replied  the  sergeant. 
"  I'm  a  senior  off — off — officer  conductin'  the  examination, 
and  I'll  suffer  no — no — no  man  to  intherfere.  I  must  have 
subor — or — ordination,  or  I'll  know  what  for.  Leave  him  to 
me,  then,  and  I'll  work  him  up,  never  fear.  George  Johnston 
isn't  the  blessed  babe  to  be  imposed  upon — that's  what  I  say- 
Come,  my  good  fellow,  mark — mark  me  now.  If  you  let  but 
a  quarter  of — of — an  inch  of  a  lie  out  of  your  lips,  you're  a 
dead  man.     Are  you  all  charged,  gentlemen  1  " 

"  All  charged,  sergeant,  with  loyalty  and  poteen  at  any 
rate  ;  hang  the  Pope." 

"  Shoulder  arms — well  done.  Present  arms.  Where  is 
— is — this  rascal  >  Oh,  yes,  here  he  is.  Well,  you  are  there 
— are  you  .'' " 

"  I'm  here,  captain." 

"Well,  blow  me,  that's  not — not — bad,  my  good  fellow; 
if  I'm  not  a  captain,  worse  men  have  been  so  (hiccough)  that's 
what  I  say." 

''  Hadn't  we  better  make  a  prisoner  of  him  at  once,  and 
bring  him  to  Sir  Robert's  ?  "  observed  another. 

"  Simpson,  hold — old — your  tongue,  I  say.  Curse  me  if 
I'll  suffer  any  man  to  intherfere  with  me  in  the  discharge  of 
my  dut3^" 

"  How  do  we  know,"  said  another,  "  but  he's  a  rapparee 
in  disguise  ? — for  that  matter,  he  may  be  Reilly  himself." 

"  Captain  and  gentlemen,"  said  Fergus,  "  if  you  have  any 
suspicion  of  me,  I'm  willin'  to  go  anywhere  you  like  ;  and, 
above  all  things,  I'd  like  to  go  to  Sir  Robert's,  bekaise  they 
know  me  there — many  a  good  bit  and  sup  I  got  in  his  kitchen." 

"Ho,  ho  !  "  exclaimed  the  sergeant ;  "  now  I  have  you — 
now  I  know  whether  you  can  tell  truth  or  not.  Answer  me 
this.  Did  ever  Sir  Robert  himself  give  you  charity  ?  Come, 
now." 

Fergus  perceived  the  drift  of  the  question  at  once.  The 
penurious  character  of  the  baronet  was  so  well  known  through- 
out the  whole  barony  that  if  he  had  replied  in  the  affirmative 
every  man  of  them  would  have  felt  that  the  assertion  was  a 
lie,  and  he  would  consequently  have  been  detected.  He  was 
prepared,  however, 


1  oo  /^-'/^^  y  RETLF.  V. 

"  Throth  then,  gintlemen,"  he  replied,  "  since  you  mnst 
have  the  truth,  and  although  maybe  what  I'm  goin'  to  say 
won't  be  plasin'  to  you,  as  Sir  Robert's  friends,  I  must  come 
out  wid  It  ;  devil  resave  the  color  of  his  money  ever  I  seen 
/et,  and  it  isn't  but  I  often  axed  him  for  it.  No — but  the 
sarvints  often  sind  me  up  a  bit  from  the  kitchen  below." 

"  Well,  come,"  said  the  sergeant,  "if  you  have  been  lyin' 
all  your  life,  you've  spoken  the  truth  now.  I  think  we  may 
let  him  go." 

"  I  don't  think  we  ought,"  said  one  of  them,  named  Steen, 
a  man  of  about  fifty  years  of  age,  and  of  Dutch  descent ;  "as 
Barnet  said,  '  we  don't  know  what  he  is,'  and  I  agree  with 
him.  He  may  be  a  rapparee  in  disguise,  or,  what  is  worse, 
Reilly  himself," 

'■What  Reilly  do  yez  mane,  gintlemen,  wid  submission?" 
asked  Fergus. 

*'  Why,  Willy  Reilly,  the  famous  Papish,"  replied  the 
sergeant  (we  don't  wish  to  fatigue  the  reader  with  his  drunken 
stutterings).  "It  has  been  sworn  that  he's  training  the 
Papishes  every  night  to  prepare  them  for  rebellion,  and 
there's  a  warrant  out  for  his  apprehension.  Do  you  know 
/nm  ?  " 

"  Troth  I  do,  well ;  and  to  tell  yez  the  truth,  he  doesn't 
stand  very  high  wid  his  own  sort." 

"  Why  so,  my  good  fellow  ?  " 

"  Bekaise  they  think  that  he  keeps  too  much  company  wid 
Prodestants,  an'  that  he's  half  a  Prodestant  himself,  and  that 
it's  only  the  shame  that  prevents  him  from  goin'  over  to  them 
altogether.  Indeed,  it's  the  general  opinion  among  the  Catho- 
lics—" 

"  Papishes  !  you  old  dog." 

"  Well,  then,  Papishes — that  ye  will — an'  troth,  I  don't 
think  the  Papishes  would  put  much  trust  in  the  same  man." 

"  Where  are  you  bound  for  now  ?  and  what  brings  you  out 
at  an  illegal  hour  on  this  lonely  road  .'' "  asked  Steen. 

"Troth,  then,  I'm  on  my  way  to  Mr.  Graham's  above; 
for  sure,  whenever  I'm  near  him,  poor  Paddy  Brennan  never 
wants  for  the  good  bit  and  sup,  and  the  comfortable  straw  bed 
in  the  barn.     May  God  reward  him  and  his  for  it  !  " 

Now,  the  truth  was,  that  Graham,  a  wealthy  and  respect- 
able Protestant  farmer,  was  uncle  to  the  sergeant ;  a  fact 
which  Fergus  well  knew,  in  consequence  of  having  been  a 
house  servant  with  him  for  two  or  three  years. 

"Sergeant,"    said  the    Williamite   settler,  "I    think    this 


WILLY  REILLY.  -*-    lOl 

matter  mav  be  easily  settled.  Let  two  of  the  men  go  back  to 
your  uncle's  with  him,  and  see  whether  they  know  him  there 
or  not." 

"Very  well,"  replied  the  sergeant,  *' let  you  and  Simpson 
go  back  with  him — I  have  no  objection.  If  my  uncle's  peo- 
ple dotft  know  him,  why  then  bring  him  down  to  Sir 
Robert's." 

"  It's  not  fair  to  put  such  a  task  upon  a  man  of  my  age," 
replied  Steen,  "  when  you  know  that  you  have  younger  men 
here." 

"It  was  you  proposed  it,  then,"  said  the  sergeant,  "^nd  I 
say,  Steen,  if  you  be  a  true  man  you  have  a  right  to  go,  and 
no  right  at  all  to  shirk  your  duty.  But  stop — I'll  settle  it  in 
a  word's  speaking  :  here  you — you  old  Papish,  where  are  you  ? 
— oh,  I  see — you're  there,  are  you  .''  Come  now,  gentlemen, 
shoulder  arms — all  right — present  arms.  Now,  you  con- 
founded Papish,  you  say  that  you  have  often  slept  in  my 
uncle's  barn  ?  " 

"  Is  Mr.  Graham  your  uncle,  sir? — bekaise,  if  he  is,  I  know 
that  I'm  in  the  hands  of  a  respectable  man." 

"  Come  now — was  there  anything  particular  in  the  inside 
of  that  barn? — Gentlemen,  are  you  ready  to  slap  into  him  if 
we  find  him  to  be  an  imposther?  " 

"  All  ready,  sergeant." 

"  Come,  now,  you  blasted  Papish,  answer  me — " 

"  Troth,  and  I  can  do  that,  sargin'.  You  say  Mr. 
Graham's  your  uncle,  an'  of  course  you  have  often  been  in 
the  barn  yourself.  Very  well,  sir,  don't  you  know  that  there's 
a  prop  on  one  side  to  keep  up  one  of  the  cupples  that  gave  way 
one  stormy  night,  and  there's  a  round  hole  in  the  lower  part 
of  the  door  to  let  the  cats  in  to  settle  accounts  wid  the  mice 
and  rats." 

"  Come,  come,  boys,  it's  all  right.  He  has  described  the 
barn  to  a  hair.  That  will  do,  my  Papish  old  cock.  Come,  I 
say,  as  every  man  must  have  a  religion,  and  since  the  Papishes 
won't  have  ours,  why  the  devil  shouldn't  they  have  one  of  their 
own  ? " 

"That's  dangerous  talk,"  said  Steen,  "  to  proceed  from 
your  lips,  sergeant.  It  smells  of  treason,  I  tell  you  ;  and  if 
you  had  spoken  these  words  in  the  days  of  the  great  and  good 
King  William,  you  might  have  felt  the  consequences." 

"  Treason  and  King  William  be  hanged  !  "  replied  the 
sergeant,  who  was  naturally  a  good-natured,  but  out-spoken 
fellow — "  sooner  than  I'd  take  up  a  poor  devil  of  a  beggar 


102  WILLY  REILLY. 

that  has  enough  to  do  to  make  out  his  bit  and  sup.  Go  on 
about  your  business,  poor  devil ;  you  shan't  be  molested. 
Go  to  my  uncle's,  where  you'll  get  a  bellyfull,  and  a  comfort- 
able bed  of  straw,  and  a  winnow-cloth  in  the  barn.  Zounds  ! 
— it  would  be  a  nice  night's  work  to  go  out  for  Willy  Reilly 
and  to  bring  home  a  beggar  man  in  his  place." 

This  was  a  narrow  escape  on  the  part  of  Fergus,  who  knew 
that  if  they  made  a  prisoner  of  him,  and  produced  him  before 
Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  who  was  a  notorious  persecutor,  and 
with  whom  the  Red  Rapparee  was  now  located,  he  would  un- 
questionably have  been  hanged  like  a  dog.  The  officer  of  the 
party,  however — to  wit,  the  worthy  sergeant — was  one  of  those 
men  who  loved  a  drop  of  the  native,  and  whose  heart  beside 
it  expands  into  a  sort  of  surly  kindness  that  has  something 
comical  and  not  disagreeable  in  it.  In  addition  to  this,  he 
never  felt  a  confidence  in  his  own  authority  with  half  the 
swagger  which  he  did  when  three  quarters  gone.  Steen  and 
he  were  never  friends,  nor  indeed  was  Steen  ever  a  popular 
man  among  his  acquaintances.  In  matters  of  trade  and 
business  he  was  notoriously  dishonest,  and  in  the  moral  and 
social  relations  of  life,  selfish,  uncandid,  and  treacherous. 
The  sergeant,  on  the  other  hand,  though  an  out-spoken  and 
flaming  anti-Papist  in  theory,  was,  in  point  of  fact,  a  good 
friend  of  his  Roman  Catholic  neighbors,  who  used  to  say  of 
him  that  his  bark  was  worse  than  his  bite. 

When  the  party  had  passed  on,  Fergus  stood  for  a  moment 
uncertain  as  to  where  he  should  direct  his  steps.  He  had  not 
long  to  wait,  however.  Reilly,  who  had  no  thoughts  of 
abandoning  him  to  the  mercy  of  the  military,  without  at  least 
knowing  his  fate,  nor,  we  may  add,  without  a  firm  determi- 
nation to  raising  his  tenantry,  and  rescuing  the  generous  fel- 
low at  every  risk,  immediately  sprung  across  the  ditch  and 
joined  him. 

"  Well,  Fergus,"  said  he,  clasping  his  hand,  "  I  heard 
everything,  and  I  can  tell  you  that  every  nerve  in  my  body 
trembled  whilst  you  were  among  them." 

"  Why,"  said  Fergus,  "  I  knew  them  at  once  by  their 
voices,  and  only  that  I  changed  my  own  as  I  did  I  won't  say 
but  they'd  have  nabbed  me." 

"The  test  of  the  barn  was  frightful;  I  thought  you  were 
gone  ;  but  you  must  explain  that." 

"Ay,  but  before  I  do,"  replied  Fergus,  ''where  are  we  to 
go?     Do  you  still  stand  tor  widow  Duckley's  ?  " 

"Certainly,  that  wom^ui  may  be  useful  lo  me." 


WILL  V  REILL  V.  --rD3 

"Well,  then,  we  may  as  well  jog  on  in  that  direction,  and 
as  we  go  I  will  tell  you." 

"  How  then  did  you  come  to  describe  the  barn — or  rather, 
was  your  description  correct  ?  " 

"Ay,  as  Gospel.  You  don't  know  that  by  the  best  of 
luck  and  providence  of  God,  I  was  two  years  and  a  half  an 
inside  laborer  with  Mr.  Graham.  As  is  usual,  all  the  inside 
men-servants  slept,  winther  and  summer,  in  the  barn  ;  and 
that  accounts  for  our  good  fortune  this  night.  Only  for  that 
scoundrel,  Steen,  however,  the  whole  thing  would  not  have 
signified  much  ;  but  he's  a  black  and  deep  villain  that.  No- 
body likes  him  but  his  brother  scoundrel,  Whitecraft,  and 
he's  a  favorite  with  him,  bekaise  he's  an  active  and  unscrupu- 
lous tool  in  his  hands.  Many  a  time,  when  these  men — 
military — militia — yeomen,  or  whatever  they  call  them,  are 
sent  out  by  this  same  Sir  Robert,  the  poor  fellows  don't  wish 
to  catch  what  they  call  the  unfortunate  Papishes,  and  before 
they  come  to  the  house  they'll  fire  off  their  guns,  pretinding 
to  be  in  a  big  passion,  but  only  to  give  their  poor  neighbors 
notice  to  escape  as  soon  as  they  can." 

In  a  short  time  they  reached  widow  Buckley's  cabin,  who, 
on  understanding  that  it  was  Reilly  who  sought  admittance, 
lost  not  a  moment  in  opening  the  door  and  letting  them  in. 
There  was  no  candle  lit  when  they  entered,  but  there  was  a 
bright  turf  fire  "blinkin'  bonnilie "  in  the  fireplace,  from 
which  a  mellow  light  emanated  that  danced  upon  the  few 
plain  plates  that  were  neatly  ranged  upon  her  humble  dresser, 
but  which  fell  still  more  strongly  upon  a  clean  and  well-swept 
hearth,  on  one  side  of  which  was  an  humble  am,  chair  of 
straw,  and  on  the  other  a  grave,  but  placid-looking,  cat,  purr- 
ing, with  half-closed  eyes,  her  usual  song  for  thj  evening. 

"Lord  bless  us!  Mr.  Reilly,  is  this  you?  Sure  it's  little 
I  expected  you,  any  way  ;  but  come  when  you  will,  you're 
welcome.  And  who  ought  to  be  welcome  to  the  poor  ould 
widow  ii.  jou  wouldn't  ?  " 

•'  Take  a  stool  and  sit  down,  honest  man,"  she  said,  ad- 
dressing Fergus;  "and  you,  Mr.  Reilly,  take  my  chair;  it's 
the  one  you  sent  me  yourself,  and  if  anybody  is  entitled  to  a 
sate  in  it,  surely  you  are.     I  must  light  a  rush." 

"  No,  Molly,"'  replied  Reilly,  "  I  would  be  too  heavy  for 
your  frail  chair.  I  will  take  one  of  those  stout  stools,  wiiich 
will  answer  me  better." 

She  then  lit  a  rush-light,  which  she  pressed  against  a  small 
cleft  of  jrou  that  was  driven  into  a  wooden  shaft,  about  three 


104 


WILLY  REILLY. 


feet  long,  which  stood  upon  a  bottom  that  resembled  the 
head  of  a  churn-staff.  Such  are  the  lights,  and  such  the 
candlesticks,  that  are  to  be  found  in  the  cabins  and  cottages 
of  Ireland. 

"  I  suppose,  Molly,"  said  Reilly,  "  you  are  surprised  at  a 
visit  from  me  just  now  ?" 

"You  know,  Mr.  Reilly,"  she  replied,  "that  if  you  came 
in  the  deadest  hours  of  the  night  you'd  be  welcome,  as  I 
said — and  this  poor  man  is  welcome  too — sit  over  to  the  fire, 
poor  man,  and  warm  yourself.  Maybe  you're  hungry;  if  you 
are  I'll  get  you  something  to  eat." 

"  Many  thanks  to  you,  ma'am,"  replied  Fergus.  "  I'm 
not  a  taste  hungry,  and  could  ait  nothing  now  ;  I'm  much 
obliged  to  you  at  the  same  time." 

"  Mr,  Reilly,  maybe  you'd  like  to  ait  a  bit.  I  can  give 
you  a  farrel  of  bread,  and  a  sup  o'  nice  goat's  milk.  God 
preserve  him  from  c\il  that  gave  me  the  same  goats,  and 
that's  your  four  quarthers,  Mr.  Reilly.  But  sure  everything 
I  have  either  came  or  come's  from  your  hand  ;  and  if  I  can't 
thank  you,  God  will  do  it  for  me,  and  that's  betther  still." 

"  No  more  about  that,  Molly — not  a  word  more.  Your 
long  residence  with  my  poor  mother,  and  your  affection  for 
her  in  all  her  trials  and  troubles,  entitle  you  to  more  than 
that  at  the  hands  of  her  son." 

"  Mrs.  Buckley,"  observed  Fergus,  "  this  is  a  quiet-looking 
little  place  you  have  here." 

"  And  It  is  for  that  I  like  it,"  she  replied.  "  I  have  pace 
here,  and  the  noise  of  the  wicked  world  seldom  reaches  me 
in  it.  My  only  friend  and  companion  here  is  the  Almighty 
— praise  and  glory  be  to  his  name  !" — and  here  she  devoutly 
crossed  herself — "  barrin',  indeed,  when  the  light-hearted 
gi?-shas*  come  a  kaih'ce'\  wid  their  wheels,  to  keep  the  poor 
ould  woman  company,  and  rise  her  ould  heart  by  their  light 
and  merry  songs,  the  cratures." 

"  That  must  be  a  relief  to  you,  Molly,"  observed  Reilly, 
who,  however,  could  with  difficulty  take  any  r.wt  in  this  littla 
dialogue. 

"  And  so  indeed  it  is,"  she  replied  •,  "  and,  poor  things, 
sure  if  their  sweethearts  do  come  at  the  dusk  to  help  them 
to  carry  home  their  spinning-wheels,  who  can  be  angry  wid 
them  ?     It's  the  way  of  life,  sure,  and  of  the  world." 

•  Young  girls. 

t  This  means  to  spend  a  portion  of  the  day,  or  a  few  hours  of  the  night,  in  a  neigh* 
bor's  house,  in  agreeable  and  amusing  conversation. 


WILLY  REILLY. 


-Tos 


She  then  went  into  another  little  room — for  the  cabin  was 
divided  into  two — in  order  to  find  a  ball  of  woollen  thread, 
her  principal  occupation  being  the  knitting  of  mittens  and 
stockings,  and  while  bustling  about  Fergus  observed  with  a 
smile, 

"  Poor  Molly  !  little  she  thinks  that  it's  the  bachelors, 
rather  than  any  particular  love  for  her  company,  that  brings 
the  thieves  here." 

"Yes,  but,"  said  Reilly,  "you  know  it's  the  custom  of  the 
country." 

"  Mrs.  Buckley,"  asked  Fergus,  "  did  the  sogers  ever  pa^ 
you  a  visit  ?  " 

"  They  did  once,"  she  replied,  "  about  six  months  ago 
or  more." 

"What  in  the  name  of  wondher,"  1-  repeated,  "could 
bring  them  to  you  ?  " 

"They  were  out  huntin'  a  priest,"  she  replied,  "that  had 
done  something  contrary  to  the  law." 

"What  did  they  say,  Mrs.  Bi;  kley,  and  how  did  they 
behave  themselves  .■'  " 

"  Why,"  she  answered,  "  they  axed  me  if  I  had  seen 
about  the  country  a  tight-looking  fat  little  man,  wid  black 
twinklin'  eyes  and  a  rosy  face,  wid  a  pair  o'  priest's  boots 
upon  him,  greased  wid  hog's  lard  ?  I  said  no.  but  to  the 
revarse.  Then  they  sarched  the  cabin,  toss  d  the  two  beds 
about — poor  Jemmy's — God  rest  my  buy's  sowl ! — an'  after- 
wards my  own.  There  was  one  that  seemed  to  hould  au- 
thority over  the  rest,  and  he  axed  who  was  my  landlord  ? 
I  said  I  had  no  landlord.  They  then  said  that  surely  I  must 
pay  rent  to  some  one,  but  I  said  that  I  paid  rent  to  nobody; 
that  Mr.  Reilly  here,  God  bless  him,  gave  me  this  house  and 
garden  free." 

"  And  what  did  they  say  when  you  named  Mr.  Reilly  ?" 

"Why,  they  said  he  was  a  dacent  Papish,  I  think  they 
called  it  ;  and  that  there  wasn't  sich  another  among  them. 
They  then  lighted  their  pipes,  had  a  smoke,  went  about  their 
business,  and  I  saw  no  more  of  them  from  that  day  to  this." 

Reilly  felt  that  this  conversation  was  significant,  and  that 
the  widow's  cabin  was  anything  but  a  safe  place  of  refuge, 
even  for  a  few  hours.  We  have  already  said  that  he  had 
been  popular  with  all  parties,  which  was  the  fact,  until  his  ac- 
quaintance with  the  old  squire  and  his  lovely  daughter.  In 
the  mean  time  the  loves  of  Willy  Reilly  and  the  far-famed 
Cooleen  Bawn  had  gone  abroad  over  the  whole  country ;  and 


1 06  ^^^J^  y  REJLL  Y. 

the  natural  result  was  that  a  large  majority  among  those  who 
were  anxious  to  exterminate  the  Catholic  Church  by  the  rigor 
of  bigoted  and  inhuman  laws,  looked  upon  the  fact  of  a 
tolerated  Papist  daring  to  love  a  Protestant  heiress,  and  the 
daughter  of  a  man  who  was  considered  such  a  stout  prop  of 
the  Establishment,  as  an  act  that  deserved  death  itself. 
Reilly's  affection  for  the  Cooleen  Batun  was  considered,  there- 
fore, not  only  daring  but  treasonable.  Those  men,  then,  he 
reflected,  who  had  called  upon  her  while  in  pursuit  of  the  un- 
fortunate priest,  had  become  acquainted  with  the  fact  of  her 
dependence  upon  his  bounty ;  and  he  took  it  for  granted, 
very  naturally  and  very  properly,  as  the  event  will  show,  that 
now,  while  "on  his  keeping,"  it  would  not  be  at  all  extraor- 
dinary if  they  occasionally  searched  her  remote  and  solitary 
cabin,  as  a  place  where  he  might  be  likely  to  conceal  himself. 
For  this  night,  however,  he  experienced  no  apprehension  of  a 
visit  from  them,  but  with  what  correctness  of  calcul  .lion  we 
shall  soon  see. 

"Molly,"  said  he,  "this  poor  man  and  I  must  sit  with 
you  for  a  couple  of  hours,  after  which  we  will  leave  you  to 
your  rest." 

"  Indeed,  Mr.  Reilly,"  she  replied,  "  from  what  I  heard 
this  day  I  can  make  a  purty  good  guess  at  the  raison  why 
you  are  here  now,  instead  of  bein'  in  your  own  comfortable 
house.  You  have  bitther  enemies  ;  but  God — blessed  be  his 
name — is  stronger  than  any  of  them.  However,  I  wish  you'd 
let  me  get  you  and  that  poor  man  something  to  eat." 

This  kind  offer  they  declined,  and  as  the  short  rush-light 
*vas  nearly  burned  out,  and  as  she  had  not  another  ready,  she 
got  what  is  called  a  cajn  or  grisset,  put  it  on  the  hearthstone, 
with  a  portion  of  hog's  lard  in  it  ;  she  then  placed  the  lower 
end  of  the  tongs  in  the  fire,  until  the  broad  portion  of  them, 
with  which  the  turf  is  gripped,  became  red  hot  ;  she  then 
placed  the  lard  in  the  grisset  between  them,  and  squeezed  it 
till  nothing  remained  but  pure  oil ;  through  this  she  slowly 
drew  the  peeled  rushes,  which  were  instantly  saturated  with 
the  grease,  after  which  she  left  them  on  a  little  table  to  cool. 
Among  the  poorer  classes — small  farmers  and  others — this 
process  is  performed  every  evening  a  little  before  dusk. 
Having  thus  supplied  them  with  these  lights,  the  pious  widow 
left  them  to  their  own  conversation  and  retired  to  the  little 
room  in  order  to  repeat  her  rosary.  We  also  will  leave  them 
to  entertain  themselves  as  best  they  can,  and  request  our 
readers  to  follow  us  to  a  different  scene. 


WILL  Y  REILL  K.  107 


CHAPTER  VII. 

AN     ACCIDENTAL     INCIDENT     FAVORABLE    TO     REILLY,     AND    A 
CURIOUS   CONVERSATION. 

We  return  to  the  party  from  whom  Fergus  Reilly  had  so 
narrow  an  escape.  As  our  readers  may  expect,  they  bent 
their  steps  to  the  magnificent  residence  of  Sir  Robert  White- 
craft.  That  gentleman  was  alone  in  his  library,  surrounded 
by  an  immense  collection  of  books  which  he  never  read.  He 
had  also  a  fine  collection  of  paintings,  of  which  he  knew  no 
more  than  his  butler,  nor  perhaps  so  much.  At  once  sensual, 
penurious,  and  bigoted,  he  spent  his  whole  time  in  i)rivate 
profligacy — for  he  was  a  hypocrite,  too — in  racking  his  ten- 
antry, and  exhibiting  himself  as  a  champion  for  Protest- 
ant principles.  Whenever  an  unfortunate  Roman  Catholic, 
whether  priest  or  layman,  happened  to  infringe  a  harsh  or  cruel 
law  of  which  probably  he  had  never  heard,  who  so  active  in 
collecting  his  myrmidons,  in  order  to  uncover,  hunt,  and  run 
down  his  luckless  victim  ?  And  yet  he  was  not  popular.  No 
one,  whether  of  his  own  class  or  any  other,  liked  a  bone  in 
his  skin.  Nothing  could  infect  him  with  the  genial  and  hos- 
pitable spirit  of  the  country,  whilst  at  the  same  time  no  man 
living  was  so  anxious  to  partake  of  the  hospitality  of  others, 
merely  because  it  saved  him  a  meal.  All  that  sustained  his 
character  at  the  melancholy  period  of  which  we  write  was 
A^hat  people  called  the  uncompromising  energy  of  his  prin- 
ciples as  a  sound  and  vigorous  Protestant. 

"  Sink  them  all  together,"  he  exclaimed  upon  this  occa- 
sion, in  a  sort  of  soliloquy — "  Church  and  bishop  and  parson, 
what  are  they  worth  unless  to  make  the  best  use  we  can  of 
them  ?  Here  I  am  prevented  from  going  to  that  girl  to-night 
— and  that  barbarous  old  blockhead  of  a  squire,  who  was  so 
near  throwing  me  off  for  a  beggarly  Papist  rebel  ;  and  doubly, 
trebly,  quadruply  cursed  be  that  same  rebel  for  crossing  my 
path  as  he  has  done.  The  cursed  light-headed  jade  loves 
him  too — there's  no  doubt  of  that — but  wait  until  I  get  him 

in   my  clutches,  as  I  certainly  shall,  and,  by ,  his  rebel 

carcass  shall  feed  the  crows.  But  what  noise  is  that  ?  They 
have  returned ;  T  must  go  down  and  learn  their  success." 

"  He  was  right.     Our  friend  the  tipsy  sergeant  and  his 


1  o8  WILL  Y  RE  ILL  Y. 

party  were  at  the  hall-door,  which  was  opened  as  he  went 
down,  and  he  ordered  lights  into  the  back  parlor.  In  a  few 
minutes  they  were  ushered  in,  where  they  found  him  seated 
as  magisterially  as  possible  in  a  large  arm-chair. 

"Well,  Johnston,"  said  he,  assuming  as  much  dignity  as 
he  could,  "  what  has  been  your  success  ?  " 

"A  bad  evening's  sport;  we  bagged  nothing — didn't  see 
a  feather." 

"  Talk  sense,  Johnston,"  said  he  sternly,  "  and  none  of 
this  cant.     Did  you  see  or  hear  anything  of  the  rebel  ?  " 

"  Why,  sir,  we  did  ;  it  would  be  a  devilish  nice  business 
if  a  party  led  and  commanded  by  George  Johnston  should  go 
out  without  seein'  and  hearin'  something." 

"Well,  but  what  did  yon  see  and  hear,  sir?" 

"Why,  we  saw  Reilly's  house,  and  a  very  comfortable 
one  it  is ;  and  we  heard  from  the  servants  that  he  wasn't  at 
home." 

"  You're  drunk,  Johnston." 

"  No,  sir,  begging  your  pardon,  I'm  only  hearty  ;  *  besides, 
I  never  discharge  my  duty  half  so  well  as  when  I'm  drunk ;  I 
feel  no  colors  then." 

"Johnston,  if  I  ever  know  you  to  get  drunk  on  duty  again 
I  shall  have  you  reduced." 

"  Reduced  !  "  replied  Johnston,  "  curse  the  fig  I  care 
whether  you  do  or  not ;  I'm  actin'  as  a  volunteer,  and  I'll 
resign." 

"Come,  sir,"  replied  Sir  Robert,  "be  quiet ;  I  will  over- 
look this,  for  you  are  a  very  good  man  if  you  could  keep 
yourself  sober." 

"  I  told  you  before.  Sir  Robert,  that  I'm  a  better  man 
when  I'm  drunk." 

"  Silence,  sir,  or  I  shall  order  you  out  of  the  room." 

"  Please  your  honor,"  observed  Steen,  "  I  have  a  charge 
to  make  against  George  Johnston." 

"  A  charge,  Steen — what  is  it  ?  You  are  a  staunch,  steady 
fellow,  I  know  ;  what  is  the  charge  ?  " 

"  Why,  sir,  we  met  a  suspicious  character  on  the  old 
bridle  road  beyond  Reilly's,  and  he  refused  to  take  him 
prisoner." 

"  A  poor  half-Papist  beggarman,  sir,"  replied  Johnston, 
who  was  on  his  way  to  my  uncle's  to  stop  there  for  the  night. 

*  "  Hearty  "  means  when  a  man  is  slightly  affected  bv  drink  so  at  to  feel  his  spirits 
el»vated. 


WILL  Y  RF.ILL  V.  1  ^ 

Devil  a  scarecrow  in  Europe  would  exchange   clothes  with 
him  without  bootP 

Steen  then  related  the  circumstances  with  which  our  read- 
ers are  acquainted,  adding  that  he  suggested  to  Johnston  the 
necessity  of  sending  a  couple  of  men  up  with  him  to  ascer- 
tain whether  what  he  said  was  true  or  not ;  but  that  he  flatly 
refused  to  do  so — and  after  some  nonsense  about  a  barn  he 
let  hiin  off. 

"I'll  tell  you  what,  sir,"  said  Johnston,  "I'll  hunt  a 
priest  or  a  Papish  that  breaks  the  law  with  any  man  livin', 
but  hang  me  if  ever  I'll  hunt  a  harmless  beggarman  lookin' 
for  his  bit." 

At  this  period  of  the  conversation  the  Red  Rapparee,  now 
in  military  uniform,  entered  the  parlor,  accompanied  by  some 
others  of  those  violent  men. 

"  Steen,"  said  the  baronet,  "  what  or  who  do  you  suppose 
this  ragged  ruffian  was  ?  " 

"  Either  a  Rapparee,  sir,  or  Reilly  himself." 

"  O'Donnel,"  said  he  addressing  the  Red  Robber,  "what 
description  of  disguises  do  these  villains  usually  assume  ? 
Do  they  often  go  about  as  beggarmen  ?  " 

"  They  may  have  changed  their  hand,  sir,  since  I  became 
a  legal  subject,  but,  before  that,  three-fourths  of  us — of  them 
— the  villains,  I  mane — went  about  in  the  shape  of  beggars." 

"  That's  important,"  exclaimed  the  baronet.  "  Steen, 
take  half  a  dozen  mounted  men — a  cavalry  party  have  arrived 
here  a  little  while  ago,  and  are  waiting  further  orders — I 
thought  if  Reilly  had  been  secured  it  might  have  been  neces- 
sary for  them  to  escort  him  to  Sligo,  Well,  take  half  a  dozen 
mounted  men,  and,  as  you  very  properly  suggested,  proceed 
with  all  haste  to  farmer  Graham's,  and  see  whether  this  men- 
dicant is  there  or  not  ;  if  he  is  there,  take  him  into  custody 
at  all  events,  and  if  he  is  not,  then  it  is  clear  he  is  a  man  for 
whom  we  ought  to  be  on  the  lookout." 

"  I  should  like  to  go  with  them,  your  honor,"  said  the  Red 
Rapparee. 

"O'Donnel,"  said  Sir  Robert,  "I  have  other  business  for 
you  to-night." 

"Well,  plaise  your  honor,"  said  O'Donnel,  "as  they're 
goin'  in  that  direction,  let  them  turn  to  the  left  after  passin' 
the  little  strame  that  crosses  the  road,  I  mane  on  their  way 
home  ;  if  they  look  sharp  they'll  find  a  little  boreen  that — but 
indeed  they'll  scarcely  make  it  out  in  the  dark,  for  it  is  a  good 
way  back  in  the  fields  -^  mane  the  cabin  of  widow  Buckleyr 


Xio  WILLY  RE  ILLY. 

If  there's  one  house  more  than  another  in  the  whole  country- 
side where  Reilly  is  likely  to  take  shelter  in,  that's  it.  He 
gave  her  that  cabin  and  a  large  garden  free,  and  besides 
allows  her  a  small  yearly  pension.  But  remember,  you  can't 
bring  your  horses  wid  you — you  must  lave  some  of  the  men 
to  take  charge  of  them  in  the  boreen  till  you  come  back.  I 
wish  you'd  let  me  go  with  thtm,  sir." 

"  I  cannot,  O'Donnel  3  I  have  other  occupation  for  you 
to-night." 

Three  or  four  of  the  men  declared  that  they  knew  the 
cottage  quite  well,  and  could  find  it  out  without  much  diffi- 
culty. "They  had  been  there,"  they  said,  "some  six  or 
eight  months  before  on  a  priest  chase."  The  matter  was  so 
arranged,  and  the  party  set  out  upon  their  expedition. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  say  that  these  men  had  their  journey 
for  nothing  ;  but  at  the  same  time  one  fact  resulted  from  it, 
which  was,  that  the  ragged  mendicant  they  had  met  must 
have  been  some  one  well  worth  looking  after.  The  deuce  of 
it  was,  however,  that,  owing  to  the  darkness  of  the  night, 
there  was  not  one  among  them  who  could  have  known  Fer- 
gus the  next  day  if  they  had  met  him.  They  knew,  however, 
that  O'Donnel,  the  Rapparee,  was  a  good  authority  on  the 
subject,  and  the  discovery  of  the  pretended  mendicant's  im- 
posture was  a  proof  of  it.  On  this  account,  when  they  had 
reached  the  boreen  alluded  to,  on  their  return  from  Graham's, 
they  came  to  the  resolution  of  leaving  their  horses  in  charge, 
as  had  been  suggested  to  them,  and  in  silence,  and  with 
stealthy  steps,  pounced  at  once  into  the  widow's  cabin.  Be- 
fore they  arrived  there,  however,  we  shall  take  the  liberty  of 
preceding  them  for  a  few  minutes,  and  once  more  transport 
our  readers  to  its  bright  but  humble  hearth. 

About  three  hours  or  better  had  elapsed,  and  our  two 
friends  were  still  seated,  maintaining  the  usual  chat  with 
Mrs.  Buckley,  who  had  finished  her  prayers  and  once  more 
rejoined  them. 

"  Fergus,  like  a  good  fellow,"  whispered  Reilly,  "  slip  out 
for  a  minute  or  two ;  there's  a  circumstance  I  wish  to  men- 
tion to  Molly — I  assure  you  it's  of  a  very  private  and  partic- 
lar  nature  and  only  for  her  own  ear." 

"  To  be  sure,"  replied  Fergus  ;  "  I  want,  at  all  events,  to 
stretch  my  legs,  and  to  see  what  the  night's  about." 

He  accordingly  left  the  cabin. 

"  Mrs.  Buckley,"  said  Reilly,  "  it  was  not  for  nothing  I 
came  here  to-night.     I  have  a  favor  to  ask  of  you." 


WILL  Y  REILL  Y.  Xvi 

"Your  favor's  granted,  sir,"  she  replied — "granted,  Mr. 
Reilly,  even  before  1  hear  it — that  is,  supposin'  always  that 
it's  in  my  power  to  do  it  for  vou." 

"  It  is  simply  to  carry  a  letter — and  be  careful  that  it  shall 
be  delivered  to  the  proper  person." 

"  Well,"  she  replied,  "  sure  that's  aisily  done.  And 
where  am  I  to  deliver  it .''  "  she  asked. 

"That  I  shall  let  you  know  on  some  future  occasion — 
perhaps  within  the  course  of  a  week  or  so." 

"  Well,  sir,"  she  replied,  "  I'd  go  twenty  miles  to  deliver 
it — and  will  do  so  wid  a  heart  and  a  half." 

"  Well,  Molly,  I  can  tell  you  your  journey  won't  be  so 
far  j  but  there  is  one  thing  you  are  to  observe — you  must 
never  breathe  it  to  a  human  creature," 

"  I  thought  you  knew  me  better,  Mr.  Reilly."  ' 

"  It  would  be  impossible,  however,  to  be  too  strict  here, 
because  you  don't  know  how  much  depends  upon  it." 

At  this  moment  Fergus  put  in  his  head,  and  said,  "  For 
Christ's  sake,  snuff  out  the  candle,  and  Reilly — fly  ! — There 
are  people  in  the  next  field  ! — quick  ! — quick  !  " 

Reilly  snatched  up  his  hat,  and  whispered  to  the  widow, 
"Deny  that  you  saw  me,  or  that  there  was  anyone  here  ! — 
Put  out  the  candle  ! — they  might  see  our  figures  darkening 
the  light  as  we  go  out  !  " 

Fergus  and  Reilly  immediately  planted  themselves  behind 
a  whitethorn  hedge,  in  a  field  adjoining  the  cabin,  in  order 
to  reconnoitre  the  party,  whoever  they  might  be,  which  they 
could  do  in  safety.  This  act  of  reconnoitering,  however,  was 
performed  by  the  ear,  and  not  at  all  by  the  eye  ;  the  darkness 
of  the  night  rendered  that  impossible.  Of  course  the  search 
in  the  widow's  cabin  was  equally  fruitless. 

"Now,"  whispered  Reilly,  "we'll  go  in  a  line  parallel 
with  the  road,  but  a  safe  distance  from  them,  until  they  reach 
the  cross-roads.  If  they  turn  towards  my  house,  we  are  fore- 
warned, but  if  they  turn  towards  Sir  Robert's,  it  is  likely  that 
I  may  have  an  opportunity  of  securing  my  cash  and  papers." 

On  reaching  the  cross-roads  alluded  to,  the  party,  much 
to  the  satisfaction  of  Reilly  and  his  companion,  did  turn  to- 
wards the  residence  of  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  thus  giving 
the  fugitives  full  assurance  that  nothing  further  was  to  be  ap- 
prehended from  them  that  night.  The  men  in  fact  felt  fa- 
tigued and  were  anxious  to  get  to  bed. 

After  approaching  Reilly's  house  very  cautiously,  and  with 
much  circumspection — not  an  outhouse,  or  other  place  of  con- 


1 1 2  WILL  Y  RETLL  V. 

cealment,  having  been  left  unexamined — tliey  were  about  to 
enter,  when  Reilly,  that  no  precaution  on  such  an  occasion 
ought  to  be  neglected,  said  : 

"  Fergus,  we  are  so  far  safe  ;  but  under  all  circumstances, 
I  think  it  right  and  prudent  that  you  should  keep  watch  out- 
side. Mark  me,  I  will  place  Tom  Corrigan — you  know  him 
— at  this  window,  and  if  you  happen  to  see  anything  in  the 
shape  of  a  human  being,  or  hear,  for  instance,  any  noise,  give 
the  slightest  possible  tap  upon  the  glass,  and  that  will  be 
sufficient." 

It  was  so  arranged,  and  Reilly  entered  the  house  ;  but,  as 
it  happened,  Fergus's  office  proved  a  sinecure ;  although,  in- 
deed, when  we  consider  his  care  and  anxiety,  we  can  scarcely 
say  so.  At  all  events,  Reilly  returned  in  about  half  an  hour, 
bearing  under  his  arm  a  large  dark  portfolio,  which,  by  the 
way,  was  securely  locked. 

"  Is  all  right  ?"  asked  Fergus. 

"All  is  right,''  replied  the  other.  "The  servants  have 
entered  into  an  arrangement  to  sit  up,  two  in  turn  each  night, 
so  as  to  be  ready  to  give  me  instant  admittance  whenever  I 
may  chance  to  come." 

"  But  now  where  are  you  to  place  these  papers  ?  "  asked 
his  companion.     "  That's  a  difficulty." 

"  It  is,  I  grant,"  replied  Reilly,  "  but  after  what  has  hap- 
pened, I  think  widow  Buckley's  cabin  the  safest  place  for  a 
day  or  two.  Only  that  the  hour  is  so  unseasonable,  I  could 
feel  little  difficulty  in  finding  a  proper  place  of  security  for 
them,  but  as  it  is,  we  must  only  deposit  them  for  the  present 
with  the  widow." 

The  roads  of  Ireland  at  this  period — if  roads  they  could 
be  called — were  not  only  in  a  most  shameful,  but  dangerous 
state.  In  summer  they  were  a  foot  deep  with  dust,  and  in 
winter  at  least  eighteen  inches  with  mud.  This,  however,  was 
by  no  means  the  worst  of  it.  They  were  studded  at  due  in- 
tervals with  ruts  so  deep  that  if  a  horse  happened  to  get  into 
one  of  them  he  went  down  to  the  saddle-skirts.  They  were 
treacherous,  too,  and  such  as  no  caution  could  guard  against ; 
because,  where  the  whole  surface  of  the  road  was  one  mass 
of  mud,  it  was  impossible  to  distinguish  these  horse  traps  at 
all.  Then,  in  addition  to  these,  were  deep  gullies  across  the 
roads,  worn  away  by  small  rills,  proceeding  fro^n  rivulets  in 
the  adjoining  uplands,  which  were  principally  dry,  or  at  least 
mere  threads  of  water  in  the  summer,  but  in  winter  became 
pigmy  torrents    that  tore  up   the    roads    across  which  they 


WILL  V  REILL  Y. 


113 


passed,  leaving  them  in  the  dangerous  state  we  have  de- 
scribed. 

As  Pveilly  and  his  companion  had  got  out  upon  the  road, 
they  were  a  good  deal  surprised,  and  not  a  little  alarmed,  to 
pee  a  horse  without  a  rider,  struggling  to  extricate  himself 
out  ot  one  of  the  ruts  in  question. 

"  What  is  this  ?  "  said  Fergus.     "  Be  on  your  guard." 

".The  horse,"  observed  Reilly,  "is  without  a  rider  ;  see 
what  it  means." 

Fergus  approached 'with  all  due  caution,  and  on  examin- 
ing the  place  discovered  a  man  lying  apparently  in  a  state  of 
insensibility. 

"  I  fear,"  said  he,  on  returning  to  Reilly,  "  that  his  rider 
has  been  hurt ;  he  is  lying  senseless  about  two  or  three  yards 
before  the  horse." 

"  My  God  !  "  exclaimed  the  other,  "  perhaps  he  has  been 
killed  ;  let  us  instantly  assist  him.  Hold  this  portfolio  whilst 
I  render  him  whatever  assistance  I  can," 

As  he  spoke  they  heard  a  heavy  groan,  and  on  approach- 
ing found  the  man  sitting,  but  still  unable  to  rise, 

"  You  have  been  unfortunately  thrown,  sir,"  said  Reilly  •, 
*'  I  trust  in  God  you  are  not  seriously  hurt." 

"  I  hope  not,  sir,"  replied  the  man,  "  but  I  was  stunned, 
and  have  been  insensible  for  some  time  ;  how  long  I  cannot 
say." 

"  Good  gracious,  sir !  "  exclaimed  Reilly,  "  is  this  Mr. 
Brown  ? " 

"  It  is,  Mr.  Reilly  ;  for  heaven's  sake  aid  me  to  my  limbs 
— that  is,  if  I  shall  be  able  to  stand  upon  them." 

Reilly  did  so,  but  found  that  he  could  not  stand  or  walk 
without  assistance.  The  horse,  in  the  mean  time,  had  extri- 
cated himself. 

"  Come,  Mr.  Brown,"  said  Reilly,  "you  must  allow  me  to 
assist  you  home.  It  is  very  fortunate  that  you  have  not  many 
perches  to  go.  This  poor  man  will  lead  your  horse  up  to  the 
stable." 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Reilly,"  replied  the  gentleman,  "  and 
in  requital  for  your  kindness  you  must  take  a  bed  at  my 
house  to-night.  I  am  aware  of  your  position,"  he  added  in  a 
confidential  voice,  "  and  that  you  cannot  safely  sleep  in  your 
own ;  with  me  you  will  be  secure." 

Reilly  thanked  him,  and  said  that  this  kind  offer  was 
most  welcome  and  acceptable,  as,  in  point  of  fact,  he  scarcely 
knew  that  night  where  to   seek  rest  with   safety.     They  ac- 


114 


WILLY  R EI LLY. 


cordingly  proceeded  to  the  parsonage — for  Mr.  Brown  was 
no  other  than  the  Protestant  rector  of  the  parish,  a  man  with 
whom  Reilly  was  on  the  most  friendly  and  intimate  terms, 
and  a  man,  we  may  add,  who  omitted  no  opportunity  of  ex- 
tending shelter,  protection,  and  countenance  to  such  Roman 
Catholics  as  fell  under  the  suspicion  or  operation  of  the  law. 
On  this  occasion  he  had  been  called  very  suddenly  to  the 
deathbed  of  a  parishioner,  and  was  then  on  his  return  home, 
after  having  administered  to  the  dying  man  the  last  consola- 
tions of  religion. 

On  reaching  the  parsonage,  Fergus  handed  the  portfolio 
to  its  owner,  and  withdrew  to  seek  shelter  in  some  of  his 
usual  haunts  for  the  night  \  but  Mr.  Brown,  aided  by  his  wife, 
who  sat  up  for  him,  contrived  that  Reilly  should  be  conducted 
to  a  private  room,  without  the  knowledge  of  the  servants,  who 
were  sent  as  soon  as  possible  to  bed.  Before  Reilly  with- 
drew, however,  that  night,  he  requested  Mr.  Brown  to  take 
charge  of  his  money  and  family  papers,  which  the  latter  did, 
assuring  him  that  they  should  be  forthcoming  whenever  he 
thought  proper  to  call  for  them.  Mr,  Brown  had  not  been 
seriously  hurt,  and  was  able  in  a  day  or  two  to  pay  the  usual 
attention  to  the  discharge  of  his  duties. 

Reilly,  having  been  told  where  to  find  his  bedroom,  re- 
tired with  confidence  to  rest.  Yet  we  can  scarcely  term  it 
rest,  after  considering  the  tumultuous  and  disagreeable  event 
of  the  evening.  He  began  to  ponder  upon  the  life  of  perse- 
cution to  which  IVIiss  Folliard  must  necessarily  be  exposed,  in 
consequence  of  her  father's  impetuous  and  fiery  temper  ;  and, 
indeed,  the  fact  was,  that  he  felt  this  reflection  infinitely  more 
bitter  than  any  that  touched  himself.  In  these  affectionate 
calculations  of  her  domestic  persecution  he  was  a  good  deal 
mistaken,  however.  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  had  now  gained 
a  complete  ascendency  over  the  disposition  and  passions  of 
her  father.  The  latter,  like  many  another  country  squire- 
especially  of  that  day — when  his  word  and  will  were  law  to 
his  tenants  and  dependents,  was  a  very  great  man  indeed, 
when  dealing  with  them.  He  could  bluster  and  threaten,  and 
even  carry  his  threats  into  execution  with  a  confident  swagger 
that  had  more  of  magisterial  pride  and  the  pomp  of  property 
in  it,  than  a  sense  of  either  right  or  justice.  But,  on  the  other 
hand,  let  him  meet  a  man  of  his  own  rank,  who  cared  nothing 
about  his  authority  as  a  magistrate,  or  his  assumption  as  a 
man  of  large  landed  property,  and  he  was  nothing  but  a  poor 
weak-minded  tool   in  his  hands.     So  far  our  description  is 


WILL  Y  REILL  Y. 


"5 


correct ;  but  when  such  a  knave  as  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft 
came  in  his  way — a  knave  at  once  calculating,  deceitful, 
plausible,  and  cunning — why,  our  worthy  old  squire,  who 
thought  himself  a  second  Solomon,  might  be  taken  by  the 
nose  and  led  round  the  whole  barony. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  he  had  sapiently  laid  down  his 
plans  to  harass  and  persecute  his  daughter  into  a  marriage 
with  Sir  Robert,  and  would  have  probably  driven  her  from 
under  his  roof,  had  he  not  received  Xhe  programme  oi  his  con- 
duct from  Whitecraft.  That  cowardly  caitifif  had  a  double 
motive  in  this.  He  found  that  if  her  father  should  "  pepper 
her  with  persecution,"  as  the  old  fellow  said,  before  marriage, 
its  consequences  might  fall  upon  his  own  unlucky  head  after- 
wards— in  other  words,  that  Helen  would  most  assuredly 
make  him  then  sufifer,  to  some  purpose,  for  all  that  his  pre- 
tensions to  her  hand  had  occasioned  her  to  undergo  previous 
to  their  union  ;  for,  in  truth,  if  there  was  one  doctrine  which 
Whitecraft  detested  more  than  another — and  with  good 
reason  too — it  was  that  of  Retribution. 

"  Mr.  Folliard,"  said  Whitecraft  in  the  very  last  conver- 
sation they  had  on  this  subject,  "you  must  not  persecute 
your  daughter  on  my  account." 

"  Mustn't  I  ?  Why  hang  it.  Sir  Robert,  isn't  persecution 
the  order  of  the  day?  If  she  doesn't  marry  30U  quietly  and 
willingly,  we'll  turn  her  out,  and  hunt  her  like  a  priest." 

"  No,  Mr.  Folliard.  violence  will  never  do.  On  the 
contrary,  you  must  change  your  hand,  and  try  an  opposite 
course.  If  you  wish  to  rivet  her  affections  upon  that  Jesuitical 
traitor  still  more  stronglv,  persecute  her  ;  for  there  is  nothing 
in  this  life  that  strengthens  love  so  much  as  opposition  and 
violence.  The  fair  ones  begin  to  look  upon  themselves  as 
martyrs,  and  in  proportion  as  you  are  severe  and  inexorable, 
so  in  proportion  are  they  resolved  to  win  the  crown  that  is  be- 
fore them.  I  would  not  press  your  daughter  but  that  I 
believe  love  to  be  a  thing  that  exists  before  marriage — never 
after.  There's  the  honeymoon,  for  instance.  Did  ever  mor- 
tal man  or  mortal  woman  hear  or  dream  of  a  second  honey- 
moon ?  No,  sir,  for  Cupid,  like  a  large  blue-bottle,  falls  into, 
and  is  drowned,  in  the  honey-pot." 

"  Confound  me,"  replied  the  squire,  "  if  I  understand  a 
word  3'ou  say.  However,  I  dare  say  it  maybe  very  good  sense 
for  all  that,  for  you  always  had  a  long  noddle.     Go  on." 

"  My  advice  to  you  then,  sir,  is  this — make  as  few  allu- 
sions to  her  marriage  with  me  as  possible  ;  but,  in  the   mean 


n6  WILLY  REILLY. 

time,  you  may  praise  me  a  little,  if  you  wish  ;  but,  above  all 
things,  don't  run  down  Reilly  immediately  after  paying  either 
my  mind  or  person  any  compliment.  Allow  the  young  lady 
to  remain  quiet  for  a  time.  Treat  her  with  your  usual  kind- 
ness and  affection ;  for  it  is  possible,  after  all,  that  she  may 
do  more  from  her  tenderness  and  affection  for  you  than  we 
could  expect  from  any  other  motive  ;  at  all  events,  until  we 
shall  succeed  in  hanging  or  transporting  this  rebellious 
scoundrel." 

"Very  good — so  he  is.  Good  William  !  what  a  soii-in-law 
I  should  have  !     I  who  transported  one  priest  already  !  " 

"  Well,  sir,  as  I  was  saying,  until  we  shall  have  succeeded 
in  hanging,  or  transporting  him.  The  first  would  be  the 
safest  no  doubt ;  but  until  we  shall  be  able  to  accomplish 
either  one  or  the  other,  we  have  not  much  to  expect  in  the 
shape  of  compliance  from  your  daughter.  When  the  villain 
is  removed,  however,  hope,  on  her  part,  will  soon  die  out — 
love  will  lose  \i<,  pabitlum." 

•'  It's  what  ? "  asked  the  squire,  staring  at  him  with  a  pair 
of  round  eyes  that  were  full  of  perplexity  and  wonder. 

"  Why,  it  means  food,  or  rather  fodder." 

"  Curse  you,  sir,"  replied  the  squire  indignantly  ;  "  do  you 
want  to  make  a  beast  of  my  daughter .'  " 

"  But  it's  a  word,  sir,  applied  by  the  poets,  as  the  food  of 
Cupid." 

"  Cupid  !  I  thought  he  was  drowmed  in  the  honey-pot,  yet 
he's  up  again,  and  as  brisk  as  ever,  it  appears.  However, 
go  on — let  us  understand  fairly  what  you're  at,  I  think  I  see 
a  glimpse  of  it  ;  and  knowing  your  character  upon  the  subject 
of  persecution  as  I  do,  it's  more,  I  must  say,  than  I  expected 
from  you.     Go  on — I  bid  you." 

"  I  say,  then,  sir,  that  if  Reilly  were  either  hanged  or  out 
of  the  country,  the  consciousness  of  this  would  soon  alter 
matters  with  Miss  Folliard.  If  you  then,  sir,  will  enter  into 
an  agreement  with  me,  I  shall  undertake  so  to  make  the  laws 
bear  upon  Reilly  as  to  rid  either  the  world  or  the  country  of 
him  ;  and  you  shall  promise  not  to  press  upon  your  daughter 
the  subject  of  her  marriage  with  me  until  then.  Still,  there 
is  one  thing  you  must  do  ;  and  that  is,  to  keep  her  under  the 
strictest  surveillance.'''' 

"  What  the  devil's  that?"  said  the  squire. 

"  It  means,"  returned  his  expected  son-in-law,  "that  she 
must  be  well  watched,  but  without  feeling  that  she  is  so." 


WILLY  REILLY.  1 17 

"Would  it  not  be  better  to  lock  her  i.p  at  once?"  said 
her  father.     "  That  would  be  making  the  matter  sure." 

"Not  at  all,"  replied  Whitccraft.  "  So  sure  as  you  lock 
her  up,  so  sure  she  will  break  prison." 

"  Well,  upon  my  soul,"  replied  her  father,  "  I  can't  see 
that.  A  strong  lock  and  key  are  certainly  the  best  surety  for 
the  due  appearance  of  any  young  woman  disposed  to  run 
away.  I  think  the  best  way  would  be  to  make  her  feel  at 
once  that  her  father  is  a  magistrate,  and  commit  her  to  her 
own  room  until  called  upon  to  appear." 

Whitecraft,  whose  object  was  occasionally  to  puzzle  his 
friend,  gave  a  cold  grin,  and  added  : 

"  I  suppose  your  next  step  would  be  to  make  her  be  put  in 
security.  "  No — no,  Mr.  Folliard  ;  if  you  will  be  advised  by 
me,  try  the  soothing  system  ;  antiphlogistic  remedies  are 
always  the  best  in  a  case  like  hers." 

"  Anti — what  1  Curse  me,  if  I  can  understand  every 
tenth  word  you  sa3^  However,  I  give  you  credit.  White- 
craft  ;  for  upon  my  soul  I  didn't  think  you  knew  half  so  much 
as  you  do.  That  last,  however,  is  a  tickler — a  nut  that  I 
can't  crack.  I  wish  I  could  only  get  my  tongue  about  it,  till 
I  send  it  among  the  Grand  Jury,  and  maybe  there  wouldn't 
be  wigs  on  the  green  in  making  it  out.'' 

"  Yes,  I  fancy  it  would  teach  them  a  little  supereroga- 
tion." 

"  A  little  what.?  Is  it  love  that  has  made  you  so  learned, 
Whitecraft,  or  so  unintelligible,  which  t  Why,  man,  if  your 
passion  increases,  in  another  week  there  won't  be  three  men 
out  of  Trinity  College  able  to  understand  you.  You  will  be- 
come a  perfect  oracle.  But,  in  the  mean  time,  let  us  see  how 
the  arrangement  stands.  Jmprimus,  you  are  to  hang  or  tran- 
sport Reilly  ;  and,  until  then,  I  am  not  to  annoy  my  daughter 
with  any  allusions  to  this  marriage :  but  above  all  things,  not 
to  compare  you  and  Reilly  with  one  another  in  her  presence, 
lest  it  might  strengthen  her  prejudices  against  you  !  " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Folliard,  I  did  not  say  so  ;  I  fear 
no  comparison  with  the  fellow." 

"  No  matter,  Sir  Robert,  if  you  did  not  knock  it  down  you 
staggered  it.  Omitting  the  comparison,  however,  I  suppose 
that  so  far  I  am  right." 

"  I  think  so,  sir,"  replied  the  other,  conscious,  after  all, 
that  he  had  got  a  touch  of  "  Roland  for  his  Oliver." 

Then  he  proceeded  :  "  I'm  to  watch  her  closely,  only 
she's  not  to  know  it.     Now^  I'll  tell  you  what,  Sir  Robert,  \ 


Ilg  WILLY  REILLY. 

know  you  carry  a  long  noddle,  with  more  hard  words  in  it 
than  I  ever  gave  you  credit  for — but  with  regard  to  what  you 
expect  from  me  now — " 

"  I  don't  mean  that  you  should  watch  her  personally  your- 
self, Mr.  Folliard." 

"  I  suppose  you  don't ;  I  didn't  think  you  did  ;  but  I'll 
tell  you  what — place  the  twelve  labors  of  Hercules  before  me, 
and  I'll  undertake  to  perform  them,  if  you  wish,  but  to  watch 
a  woman.  Sir  Robert — and  that  woman  keen  and  sharp  upon 
the  cause  of  such  vigilance — without  her  knowing  it  in  one 
half  hour's  time — that  is  a  task  that  never  was,  can,  or  will  be 
accomplished.  In  the  mean  time,  we  must  only  come  as  near 
its  accomplishment  as  we  can." 

"Just  so,  sir;  we  can  do  no  more.  Remember,  then, 
that  you  perform  your  part  of  this  arrangement,  and,  with  the 
blessing  of  God,  I  shall  leave  nothing  undone  to  perform 
mine." 

Thus  closed  this  rather  extraordinary  conversation,  after 
which  Sir  Robert  betook  himself  home,  to  reflect  upon  the 
best  means  of  performing  his  part  of  it,  with  what  quickness 
and  dispatch,  and  with  what  success,  our  readers  already 
know. 

The  old  squire  was  one  of  those  characters  who  never  are 
so  easily  persuaded  as  when  they  do  not  fully  comprehend 
the  argument  used  to  convince  them.  Whenever  the  squire 
found  himself  a  little  at  fault,  or  confounded  by  either  a  diffi- 
cult word  or  a  hard  sentence,  he  always  took  it  for  granted 
that  there  was  something  unusually  profound  and  clever  in 
the  matter  laid  before  him.  Sir  Robert  knew  this,  and  on 
that  account  played  him  off  to  a  certain  extent.  He  was  too 
cunning,  however,  to  darken  any  part  of  the  main  argument 
so  far  as  to  prevent  its  drift  from  being  fully  understood,  and 
thereby  defeating  his  own  purpose. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

A  CONFLAGRATION — AN    ESCAPE — AND    AN    ADVENTURE. 

We  have  said  that  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  was  anything  but 
a  popular  man — and  we  might  have  added  that,  unless  among 
his  own  clique  of  bigots  and  persecutors,  he  was  decidedly 
unpopular  among  Protestants  in  general.     In  a  few  days  after 


WILLY  REILLY. 


119 


the  events  of  the  night  we  have  described,  Reilly,  b}^  the  ad- 
vice of  Mr.  Brown's  brother,  an  able  and  distinguished  law- 
yer, gave  up  the  possession  of  his  immense  farm,  dwelling- 
house,  and  offices,  to  the  landlord.  In  point  of  fact,  this  man 
had  taken  the  farm  for  Reilly's  father,  in  his  own  name,  a 
step  which  many  of  the  liberal  and  generous  Protestants  of 
that  period  were  in  the  habit  of  taking,  to  protect  the  prop- 
erty for  the  Roman  Catholics,  from  such  rapacious  scoundrels 
as  VVhilecraft,  and  others  like  him,  who  had  accumulated  the 
greater  portion  of  their  wealth  and  estates  by  the  blackest 
and  most  iniquitous  political  profligacy  and  oppression.  For 
about  a  month  after  the  first  night  of  the  unsuccessful  pursuit 
after  Reilly,  the  whole  country  was  overrun  with  military  par- 
ties, and  such  miserable  inefficient  police  as  then  existed.  In 
the  mean  time,  Reilly  escaped  every  toil  and  snare  that  had 
been  laid  for  him.  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  seeing  that  hither- 
to he  had  set  them  at  defiance,  resolved  to  glut  his  vengeance 
on  his  property,  since  he  could  not  arrest  himself.  A  descrip- 
tion  of  his  person  had  been,  almost  from  the  commencement 
of  the  proceedings,  published  in  the  Hue-atui-Cry,  and  he  had 
been  now  outlawed.  As  even  this  failed.  Sir  Robert,  as  we 
said,  came  with  a  numerous  party  of  his  myrmidons,  bringing 
along  with  them  a  large  number  of  horses,  carts,  and  cars. 
The  house  at  this  time  was  in  the  possession  only  of  a  keeper, 
a  poor,  feeble  man,  with  a  wife  and  a  numerous  family  of  small 
children,  the  other  servants  having  fled  from  the  danger  in 
which  their  connection  with  Reilly  involved  them.  Sir  Rob- 
ert, however,  very  deliberately  brought  up  his  cars  and  other 
vehicles,  and  having  dragged  out  all  the  most  valuable  part 
of  the  furniture,  piled  it  up,  and  had  it  conveyed  to  his  own 
outhouses,  where  it  was  carefully  stowed.  This  act,  however, 
excited  comparatively  little  attention,  for  such  outrages  were 
not  unfrequenlly  committed  by  those  who  had.  or  at  least  who 
thought  they  had,  the  law  in  their  own  hands.  It  was  now 
dusk,  and  the  house  had  been  gutted  of  all  that  had  been 
most  valuable  in  it — but  the  most  brilliant  part  of  the  per- 
formance was  yet  to  come.  We  mean  no  contemptible  pun. 
The  young  man's  dwelling-house  and  office-houses  were  ig- 
nited at  this  moment  by  this  man's  military  and  other  official 
minions,  and  in  about  twenty  minutes  they  were  all  wrapped 
in  one  red,  merciless  mass  of  flame.  The  country  people,  on 
observing  this  fearful  conflagration,  flocked  from  all  quarters  ; 
but  a  cordon  of  outposts  was  stationed  at  some  distance 
ground  the  premises,  to  prevent  the  peasantry  from  marking 


120  WILL  Y  REIL  L  Y. 

the  chief  actors  in  this  nefarious  outrage.  Two  gentlemen, 
however,  approached,  who,  having  given  their  names,  were  at 
once  admitted  to  the  burning  premises.  These  were  Mr. 
Brown,  the  clergyman,  and  Mr.  Hastings,  the  actual  and  legal 
proprietor  of  all  that  had  been  considered  Reilly's  property. 
Both  of  them  observed  that  Sir  Robert  was  the  busiest  man 
among  them,  and  upon  making  enquiries  from  the  party,  they 
were  informed  that  they  acted  by  his  orders,  and  that,  more- 
over, he  was  himself  the  very  first  individual  who  had  set  fire 
to  the  premises.  The  clergyman  made  his  way  to  Sir  Robert, 
on  whose  villanous  countenance  he  could  read  a  dark  and 
diabolical  triumph. 

"Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,"  said  Mr.  Brown,  "how  comes 
such  a  wanton  and  unnecessary  waste  of  property  ?  " 

"  Because,  sir,"  replied  that  gentleman,  "  it  is  the  prop- 
erty of  a  Popish  rebel  and  outlaw,  and  is  confiscated  to  the 
State." 

"  But  do  you  possess  authority  for  this  conduct  ? — Are  you 
the  State  ? " 

"  In  the  spirit  of  our  Protestant  Constitution,  certainly.  I 
am  a  loyal  Protestant  magistrate,  and  a  man  of  rank,  and  will 
hold  myself  accountable  for  what  I  do  and  have  done.  Come 
you,  there,"  he  added,  "  who  have  knocked  down  the  pump, 
take  some  straw,  light  it  up,  and  put  it  with  pitchforks  upon 
the  lower  end  of  the  stable  ;  it  has  not  yet  caught  the  flames." 

This  order  was  accordingly  complied  with,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  the  scene,  if  one  could  dissociate  the  mind  from  the 
hellish  spirit  which  created  it,  had  something  terribly  sublime 
in  it. 

Mr.  Hastings,  the  gentleman  who  accompanied  the  clergy 
man,  the  real  owner  of  the  property,  looked  on  with  apparent 
indifference,  but  uttered  not  a  word.  Indeed,  he  seemed 
rather  to  enjoy  the  novelty  of  the  thing  than  otherwise,  and 
passed  with  Mr.  Brown  from  place  to  place,  as  if  to  obtain 
the  best  points  for  viewing  the  fire. 

Reilly's  residence  was  a  long,  large,  two-story  house, 
deeply  thatched  ;  the  kitchen,  containing  pantry,  laundry, 
scullery,  and  all  the  usual  appurtenances  connected  with  it, 
was  a  continuation  of  the  larger  house,  but  it  was  a  story 
lower,  and  also  deeply  thatched.  The  out-offices  lan  in  a 
long  line  behind  the  dwelling-house,  so  that  both  ran  parallel 
with  each  other,  and  stood  pretty  close  besides,  for  the  yard 
was  a  narrow  one.  In  the  mean  time,  the  night,  though  dry, 
was  dark  and  stormy.    The  wind  howled  through  the  adioinin|r 


WILLY  AFii.LY.  12  1 

trees  like  thunder,  roared  along  the  neighboring  hills,  and 
swept  down  in  savage  whirlwinds  to  the  bottom  of  the  lowest 
valleys.  The  greater  portion  of  the  crowa  who  were  standing 
outside  the  cordon  we  have  spoken  of  fled  home,  as  the  awful 
gusts  grew  stronger  and  stronger,  in  order  to  prevent  their 
own  houses  from  being  stripped  or  unroofed,  so  that  veiy  few 
remained  to  witness  the  rage  of  the  conflagration  at  its  full 
height.  The  Irish  peasantry  entertain  a  superstition  that 
whenever  a  strong  storm  of  wind,  without  rain,  arises,  it  has 
been  occasioned  by  the  necromantic  spell  of  some  guilty  sor- 
cerer, who,  first  having  sold  himself  to  the  devil,  afterwards 
raises  him  for  some  wicked  purpose ;  and  nothing  but  the 
sacrifice  of  a  black  dog  or  a  black  cock — the  one  without  a 
white  hair,  and  the  other  without  a  white  feather — can  pre- 
/ent  him  from  carrying  away,  body  and  soul,  the  individual 
Jirho  called  him  up,  accompanied  by  such  terrors.  In  fact 
the  night,  independently  of  the  terrible  accessary  of  the  fire, 
was  indescribably  awful.  Thatch  portions  of  the  ribs  and 
roofs  of  houses  were  whirled  along  through  the  air  ;  and  the 
sweeping  blast,  in  addition  to  its  own  bowlings,  was  burdened 
with  the  loud  screamings  of  women  and  children,  and  the 
stronger  shoutings  of  men,  as  they  attempted  to  make  each 
other  audible,  amidst  the  roaring  of  the  tempest. 

This  was  terrible  indeed  ;  but  on  such  a  night,  what  must 
Qot  the  conflagration  have  been,  fed  by  such  pabulum — as 
Sir  Robert  himself  would  have  said — as  that  on  which  i* 
glutted  its  fiery  and  consuming  appetite.  We  have  said  thav. 
the  ofBces  and  dwelling-house  ran  parallel  with  each  other, 
and  such  was  the  fact.  What  appeared  singular,  and  not 
without  the  possibility  of  some  dark  supernatural  causes, 
according  to  the  impressions  of  the  people,  was,  that  the 
wind,  on  the  night  in  question,  started,  as  it  were,  along  with 
the  fire  ;  but  the  truth  is,  it  had  been  gamboling  in  its 
gigantic  play  before  the  fire  commenced  at  all.  In  the  mean 
time,  as  we  said,  the  whole  premises  presented  one  fiery  mass 
of  red  and  waving  flames,  that  shot  and  drifted  up,  from  time 
to  time,  towards  the  sky,  with  the  rapidity,  and  more  than 
the  terror,  of  the  aurora  borealis.  As  the  conflagration  pro- 
ceeded, the  high  flames  that  arose  from  the  mansion,  and 
those  that  leaped  up  from  the  offices,  several  times  met  across 
the  yard,  and  mingled,  as  if  to  exult  in  their  fearful  task  of 
destruction,  forming  a  long  and  distinct  arch  of  flame,  so 
exact  and  regular,  that  it  seemed  to  proceed  from  the  skill 
and  effort  of  some  powerful  demon,  who  had  made  it,  as  it 


122  WILLY  REILLY. 

were,  a  fiery  arbor  for  his  kind.  The  whole  country  was 
visible  to  an  astonishing  distance,  and  overhead,  the  evening 
sky,  into  which  the  uprushing  pyramids  seemed  to  pass, 
looked  as  if  it  had  caught  the  conflagration,  and  was  one  red 
mass  of  glowing  and  burning  copper.  Around  the  house  and 
premises  the  eye  could  distinguish  a  pin ;  but  the  strong 
light  was  so  fearfully  red  that  the  deep  tinge  it  communicated 
to  the  earth  seemed  like  blood,  and  made  it  appear  as  if  it 
had  been  sprinkled  with  it. 

It  is  impossible  to  look  upon  a  large  and  extensive  confla- 
gration without  feeling  the  mind  filled  with  imagery  and 
comparisons,  drawn  from  moral  and  actual  life.  Here,  for 
instance,  is  a  tyrant,  in  the  unrestrained  exercise  of  his 
power — he  now  has  his  enemy  in  his  grip,  and  hear  how  he 
exults ;  listen  to  the  mirthful  and  crackling  laughter  with 
which  the  fiendish  de'^pot  rejoices,  as  he  gains  the  victory; 
mark  the  diabolical  gambols  with  which  he  sports,  and  the 
demon  glee  with  which  he  performs  his  capricious  but  fright- 
ful exultations.  But  the  tyrant,  after  all,  will  become  ex- 
hausted— his  strength  and  power  will  fail  him  ;  he  will  de- 
stroy his  own  subjects  ;  he  will  become  feeble,  and  when  he 
has  nothing  further  on  which  to  exercise  his  power,  he  will, 
like  many  another  tyrant  before  him,  sink,  and  be  lost  in  the 
ruin  he  has  made. 

Again:  Would  you  behold  Industry?  Here  have  its  ter- 
rible spirits  been  appointed  their  tasks.  Observe  the  energy, 
the  activity,  the  persevering  fury  with  which  they  discharge 
their  separate  duties.  See  how  that  eldest  son  of  Apollyon, 
with  the  appetite  of  hell,  licks  into  his  burning  maw  every- 
thing that  comes  in  contact  with  his  tongue  of  fire.  What 
•quickness  of  execution,  and  how  rapidly  they  pass  from  place 
JO  place  !  how  they  run  about  in  quest  of  employment !  how 
diligently  and  effectually  they  search  every  nook  and  corner, 
lest  anything  might  escape  them  !  Mark  the  activity  with 
which  that  strong  fellow  leaps  across,  from  beam  to  beam, 
seizing  upon  each  as  he  goes.  A  different  task  has  been 
assigned  to  another  :  he  attacks  the  rafters  of  the  roof — he 
fails  at  first,  but,  like  the  constrictor,  he  first  licks  over  his 
victim  before  he  destroys  it — bravo! — he  is  at  it  again — it 
gives  way — he  is  upon  it,  and  about  it  ;  and  now^  his  diffi- 
culties are  over — the  red  wood  glows,  splits  and  crackles,  and 
flies  off  in  angry  flakes,  in  order  to  become  a  minister  to  its 
active  and  devouring  maste'-.  See  !  observe  !  What  busi- 
pe!?s-*-what  a  coil  and  turmoil  oi  industry !     Every  flame  at 


WILLY  REILLY. 


123 


work — no  idle  hand  here — no  lazy  lounger  reposing,  No, 
no — the  industry  of  a  hive  of  bees  is  nothing  to  this.  Run- 
ning up — running  down — running  in  all  directions  :  now  they 
unite  together  to  accomplish  some  general  task,  and  again 
disperse  themselves  to  perform  their  individual  appointments. 

But  hark  !  what  comes  here  ?  Room  for  another  ele- 
ment. 'Tis  the  wind-storm,  that  comes  to  partake  in  the 
triumph  of  the  victory  which  his  ministers  have  assisted  to 
gain.  But  lo !  here  he  comes  in  person  ;  and  now  they 
unite — or  how? — Do  they  oppose  each  other?  Here  does 
the  wind-storm  drive  back  the  god  of  fire  from  his  victim  ; 
again  the  fiery  god  attempts  to  reach  it ;  and  again  he  -eels 
that  he  has  met  more  than  his  match.  Once,  twice,  thrice 
he  has  failed  in  getting  at  it.  But  is  this  conflict  real — this 
fierce  battle  between  the  elements  ?  Alas,  no  ;  they  are  both 
*p-ants,  and  what  is  to  be  expected  ? 

The  wind  god,  always  unsteady,  wheels  round,  comes  to 
the  assistance  of  his  opponent,  and  gives  him  new  courage, 
new  vigor,  and  new  strength.  But  his  inferior  ministers 
must  have  a  share  of  this  dreadful  repast.  Off  go  a  thou- 
sand masses  of  burning  material,  whirling  along.  Off  go  the 
glowing  timbers  and  rafters,  on  the  wind,  by  which  they  are 
borne  in  thousands  of  red  meteors  across  the  sky.  But  hark, 
igain  !  Room  for  the  whirlwind  !  Here  it  comes,  and  ad- 
dresses itself  to  yon  tall  and  waving  pyramid  ;  they  embrace  ; 
the  pyramid  is  twisted  into  the  figure  of  a  gigantic  cork- 
screw— round  they  go,  rapid  as  thought ;  the  thunder  of  the 
ivind  supplies  them  with  the  appropriate  music,  and  con- 
nnues  until  this  terrible  and  gigantic  waltz  of  the  ele.r.ents  is 
included.  But  now  these  fearful  ravagers  are  satisfied,  be- 
cause they  have  nothing  more  on  which  they  can  glut  them- 
selves. They  appear,  however,  to  be  seated.  The  wind  has 
become  low,  and  is  only  able  to  work  up  a  feeble  effort  at  its 
'ormer  strength.  The  flames,  too,  are  subsiding — their  power 
:s  gone  ;  occasional  jets  of  fire  come  forth,  but  they  instantly 
disappear.  By  degrees,  and  one  after  another,  they  vanish. 
Nothing  now  is  visible  but  smoke,  and  everything  is  con- 
sidered as  over — when  lo  !  like  a  great  genera!,  who  has 
achieved  a  triumphant  victory,  it  is  deemed  right  to  take  a 
last  look  at  the  position  of  the  enemy.  Up,  ther^^fore,  starts 
an  unexpected  burst  of  flame — blazes  for  a  while  ;  looks 
about  it,  as  it  were  ;  sees  that  the  victory  is  complete,  and 
drops  down  into  the  darkness  from  which  it  came.  The  con- 
flagration is  over ;  the  wind-storm  is  also  appeased-     Small 


124  WILLY  REILLY. 

hollow  gusts,  amongst  the  trees  and  elsewhere,  aie  now  all 
that  are  heard.  By  degrees,  even  these  cease ;  and  the  wind 
is  now  such  as  it  was  in  the  course  of  the  evening,  when  the 
elements  were  comparatively  quiet  and  still. 

Mr.  Brown  and  his  friend,  Mr,  Hastings,  having  waited 
until  they  saw  the  last  rafter  of  the  unfortunate  Reilly's  house 
and  premises  sink  into  a  black  mass  of  smoking  ruins,  turned 
their  steps  to  the  parsonage,  which  they  had  no  sooner  en- 
tered than  they  went  immediately  to  Reilly's  room,  who  was 
still  there  under  concealment.  Mr.  Brown,  however,  went 
out  again  and  returned  with  some  wine,  which  he  placed 
upon  the  table. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  Reilly,  "  this  has  become  an  awful 
night ;  the  wind  has  been  tremendous,  and  has  done  a  good 
deal  of  damage,  I  fear,  to  your  house  and  premises,  Mr. 
Brown.  I  heard  the  slates  falling  about  in  great  numbers  ; 
and  the  inmates  of  the  house  were,  as  far  as  I  could  judge, 
exceedingly  alarmed." 

"  It  was  a  dreadful  night  in  more  senses  than  one," 
replied  Mr.  Brown. 

"By  the  bye,"  said  Reilly,  "was  there  not  a  fire  some- 
where in  the  neighborhood  ?  I  observed  through  the  windows 
a  strong  light  flickering  and  vibrating,  as  it  were,  over  the 
whole  country.     What  must  it  have  been  1 " 

"  My  dear  Reilly,"  replied  Mr.  Brown,  "  be  calm  ;  your 
house  and  premises  are,  at  this  moment,  one  dark  heap  of 
smouldering  ruins." 

"  Oh,  yes— I  understand,"  replied  Reilly—"  Sir  Robert 
Whitecraft." 

"Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,"  replied  Mr.  Brown;  "it  is  too 
true,  Reilly — you  are  now  houseless  and  homeless  ;  and  may 
God  forgive  him  !  " 

Reilly  got  up  and  paced  the  room  several  times,  then  sat 
down,  and  filling  himself  a  glass  of  wine,  drank  it  off  ;  then 
looking  at  each  of  them,  said,  in  a  voice  rendered  hoarse  by 
the  indignation  and  resentment  which  he  felt  himself  com- 
pelled, out  of  respect  for  his  kind  friends,  to  restrain,  "  Gen- 
tlemen," he  repeated,  "  what  do  you  call  this  ?  " 

"  Malice — persecution — vengeance,"  replied  Mr.  Brown, 
whose  resentment  was  scarcely  less  than  that  of  Reilly  him- 
self. "In  the  presence  of  God,  and  before  all  the  world,  I 
would  pronounce  it  one  of  the  most  diabolical  acts  ever  com- 
mitted in  the  history  of  civil  society.  But  you  have  one  con- 
solation, Reilly ;  your  money  and  papers  are  safe." 


mtLY  REILLY. 


125 


*•  !♦■  Js  not  that,"  replied  Reilly  ;  "I  t'nlnk.  nOt  or  them. 
It  is  ti';t  v'r.dictive  and  persecuting  spirit  ol  that  man — that 
ivionster — and  the  petsonal  motives  fiOni  which  he  acts,  that 
torture  me,  and  that  plant  in  my  heart  a  principle  of  ven- 
geance more  fearful  than  his.  But  you  do  not  understand 
me  gentlemen  ;  I  could  smile  at  all  he  has  done  to  myself 
yet.  It  is  of  the  serpent-tooth  which  will  destroy  the  peace 
of  others,  that  I  think.  All  these  motives  being  considered, 
what  do  you  think  that  man  deserves  at  my  hand  .-"' 

"  My  dear  Reilly,"  said  the  clergyman,  "  recollect  that  there 
is  a  Providence  ;  and  that  we  cannot  assume  ourselves  the 
disposition  of  His  judgments,  or  the  knowledge  of  His  wis- 
dom. Have  patience.  Your  situation  is  one  of  great  distress 
and  almost  unexampled  difficulty.  At  all  events,  you  are, 
for  the  present,  safe  under  this  roof;  and  although  I  grant  you 
have  much  to  suffer,  still  you  have  a  free  conscience,  and,  I 
dare  say,  would  not  exchange  your  position  for  that  of  your 
persecutor." 

"  No,"  said  Reilly  ;  "most  assuredly  not — most  assuredly 
not ;  no,  not  for  worlds.  Yet  is  it  not  strange,  gentlemen, 
that  that  man  will  sleep  sound  and  happily  to-night,  whilst  I 
will  lie  upon  a  bed  of  thorns  ?" 

At  this  moment  Mrs.  Brown  tapped  gently  at  the  door, 
which  was  cautiously  opened  by  her  husband. 

"John,"  said  she,  "  here  is  a  note  which  I  was  desired  to 
give  to  you  without  a  moment's  delay  " 

"  Thank  you,  my  love  ;  I  will  read  it  instantly." 

He  then  bolted  the  door,  and  coming  to  the  table  took  up 
one  of  the  candles  and  read  the  letter,  which  he  handed  to 
Mr.  Hastings.  Now  we  have  already  stated  that  this  gentle- 
man, whilst  looking  on  at  the  direction  of  Reilly's  property, 
never  once  opened  his  lips.  Neither  did  he,  from  the  mo- 
ment they  entered  Reilly's  room.  He  sat  like  a  dumb  man, 
occasionally  helping  himself  to  a  glass  of  wine.  After  having 
perused  the  note  he  merely  nodded,  but  said  not  a  word  ;  he 
seemed  to  have  lost  the  faculty  of  speech.  At  length  Mr. 
Brown  spoke  : 

"  This  is  really  too  bad,  my  dear  Reilly ;  here  is  a  note 
signed  '  H.  F.,'  which  informs  me  that  your  residence,  con- 
cealment, or  whatever  it  is,  has  been  discovered  by  Sir 
Robert  Whitecraf,:,  and  that  the  military  are  on  the  way  here 
to  arrest  you ;  you  must  instantly  fly." 

Hastings  then  got  up,  ar.^J  taking  Reilly's  hand,  said  : 

"  Yes,    Reilly,  you  must  escape — disguise  yourself — take 


,  2  6  WILL  Y  RETLL  Y. 

all  shapes — since  you  will  not  leave  the  country ;  but  there 
is  one  fact  that  I  wish  to  impress  upon  you  :  meddle  not  with 
— injure  not — Sir  Robert  Whitecraft.     Leave  him  to  me." 

"Go  out  by  the  back  way,"  said  Mr.  Brown,  "  and  fly 
into  the  fields,  lest  they  should  surround  the  house  and  render 
escape  impossible.  God  bless  you  and  preserve  you  from  the 
violence  of  your  enemies  '  " 

It  is  unnecessary  to  relate  what  subsequently  occurred. 
Mr.  Brown's  premises,  as  he  had  anticipated,  were  completely 
surrounded  ere  the  party  in  search  of  Reilly  had  demanded 
admittance.  The  whole  house  was  searched  from  top  to 
bottom,  but,  as  usual,  without  success.  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft 
himself  was  not  with  them,  but  the  party  were  all  but  intoxi- 
cated, and,  were  it  not  for  the  calm  and  unshrinking  firm- 
ness of  Mr.  Brown,  would  have  been  guilty  of  a  very  of- 
fensive degree  of  insolence. 

Reilly,  in  the  mean  time,  did  not  pass  far  from  the  house. 
On  the  contrary,  he  resolved  to  watch  from  a  safe  place  tli^- 
motions  of  those  who  were  in  pursuit  of  him.  In  order  to  do 
this  more  securely,  he  mounted  into  the  branches  of  a  magnifi 
cent  oak  tree  that  stood  in  the  centre  of  a  field  adjoining  a 
kind  of  back  lawn  that  stretched  from  the  walled  garden  of 
the  parsonage.  The  fact  is,  that  the  clergyman's  house  had 
two  hall-doors — one  in  front,  and  the  other  in  the  rear — and 
as  the  rooms  commanded  a  view  of  the  scenery  behind  the 
house,  which  was  much  finer  than  that  in  front,  on  this  ac 
count  the  back  hall-door  was  necessary,  as  it  gave  them  a 
free  and  easy  egress  to  the  lawn  we  have  mentioned,  from 
which  a  magnificent  prospect  was  visible. 

It  was  obvious  that  the  party,  though  unsuccessful,  had 
been  very  accurately  informed.  Finding,  however,  that  the 
bird  had  fl^wn,  several  of  them  galloped  across  the  lawn — 
it  was  a  cavalry  party,  having  been  sent  out  for  speed — and 
passed  into  the  field  where  the  tree  grew  in  which  Reilly  was 
concealed.  After  a  useless  search,  however,  they  returned, 
and  pulled  up  their  horses  under  the  oak. 

"  Well,"  said  one  of  them,  "  it's  a  clear  case  that  the 
scoundrel  can  make  himself  invisible.  We  have  orders  from 
Sir  Robert  to  shoot  him,  and  to  put  the  matter  upon  the 
principle  of  resistance  against  the  law,  on  his  side.  Sir 
Robert  had  been  most  credibly  informed  that  this  disloyal 
parson  has  concealed  him  in  his  house  for  nearly  the  last 
month.  Now  who  would  think  of  looking  for  a  Popish  rebel 
in  the  house  of  a  Protestant  parson  }     What  the  deuce  is 


WILLY  REILLY.  I27 

keeping  those  fellows  ?  I  hope  they  won't  go  far  into  the 
country." 

"  Any  man  that  says  Mr.  Brown  is  a  disloyal  parson  is  a 
liar,"  said  one  of  them  in  a  stern  voice. 

"  And  I  say,"  said  another,  with  a  hiccough,  "  that,  hang 
me,  but  I  think  this  same  Reilly  is  as  loyal  a  man  as  e'er  a 
one  among  us.  My  name  is  George  Johnston,  and  I'm  not 
ashamed  of  it ;  and  the  truth  is,  that  only  Miss  Folliard  fell 
in  love  with  Reilly,  and  refused  to  marry  Sir  Robert,  Reilly 
would  have  been  a  loyal  man  still,  and  no  ill-will  against  him. 

But,  by ,  it  was  too  bad  to  burn  his  house  and  place — and 

see  whether  Sir  Robert  will  come  off  the  better  of  it.  I  my- 
self am  a  good  Protestant — show  me  the  man  that  will  deny 
that,  and  I'll  become  his  schoolmaster  only  for  five  minutes. 
I  do  say,  and  I'll  tell  it  to  Sir  Robert's  face,  that  there's  some- 
thing wrong  somewhere.  Give  me  a  Papish  that  breaks  the  law, 
let  him  be  priest  or  layman,  and  I'm  the  boy  that  will  take  a 
grip  of  him  if  I  can  get  him.  But,  confound  me,  if  I  like  to 
be  sent  out  to  hunt  innocent,  inoffensive  Papishes,  who  com- 
mit no  crime  except  that  of  having  property  that  chaps  like 
Sir  Robert  have  their  eyes  on.  Now  suppose  the  Papishes 
had  the  upper  hand,  and  that  they  treated  us  so,  what  would 
you  sav  ?  " 

"  All  that  I  can  say  is,"  replied  another  of  them,  "  that  I'd 
wish  to  get  the  reward." 

"  Curse  the  reward,"  said  Johnston,  "  I  like  fair  play." 

"  But  how  did  Sir  Robert  come  to  know  ?"  asked  another, 
"  that  Reilly  was  with  the  parson  ?  " 

"  Who  the  deuce  here  can  tell  that  ? "  replied  several. 

"  That  thing  was  a  hoax,"  said  Johnston,  "  and  a  cursed 
uncomfortable  one  for  us.  But  here  comes  these  fellows  just 
as  they  went,  it  seems.  Well,  boys,  no  trail  of  this  cunning 
fox  ? " 

"  Trail,"  exclaimed  the  others.  "  Gad,  you  might  as  well 
hunt  for  your  grandmother's  needle  in  a  bottle  of  straw.  The 
truth  is,  the  man's  not  in  the  country,  and  whoever  gave  the 
information  as  to  the  parson  keeping  him  was  some  enemy  of 
the  parson's  more  than  of  Reilly's,  I'll  go  bail.  Come,  now. 
let  us  go  back  and  give  an  account  of  our  luck,  and  then  to 
our  barracks." 

Now  at  this  period  it  was  usual  for  men  who  were  promi- 
nent for  rank  and  loyalty,  and  whose  attachment  to  the  Con- 
stitution and  Government  was  indicated  by  such  acts  and 
principles  as  those  which  we  have  hitherto  read  in  the  life  of 


128  WILLY  REILLY. 

Sir  Robert  Whitecraft — we  say.  it  was  usual  for  such  as  him 
to  be  allowed  a  small  detachment  of  military,  whose  numbers 
were  mostly  rated,  according  to  the  services  required  of  them, 
by  the  zeal  and  activity  of  their  employer,  as  well  as  for  their 
protection  ]  and,  in  order  to  their  accommodation,  some  un- 
inhabited house  in  the  neighborhood  was  converted  into  a 
barrack  for  the  purpose.  Such  was  the  case  in  the  instance 
of  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  who,  independently  of  his  zeal  for 
the  public  good,  was  supposed  to  have  an  eye  in  this  dispo- 
sition of  things  to  his  own  personal  safety.  He,  consequently, 
had  his  little  barrack  so  closely  adjoining  his  house  that  a 
notice  of  five  minutes  could  at  any  time  have  its  inmates  at 
his  premises,  or  in  his  presence. 

After  these  men  went  away,  Reilly,  having  waited  a  few 
minutes,  until  he  was  satisfied  that  they  had  actually,  one  and 
all  of  them,  disappeared,  came  down  from  the  tree,  and  once 
more  betook  himself  to  the  road.  Whither  to  go  he  knew  not. 
In  consequence  of  having  received  his  education  abroad,  his 
personal  knowledge  of  the  inhabitants  belonging  to  the 
neighborhood  was  very  limited.  Go  somewhere,  however,  he 
must.  Accordingly,  he  resolved  to  advance,  at  all  events,  as 
far  as  he  might  be  able  to  travel  before  bedtime,  and  then  re- 
sign himself  to  chance  for  a  night's  shelter.  One  might  im- 
agine, indeed,  that  his  position  as  a  wealthy  Roman  Catholic 
gentleman,  suffering  persecution  from  the  tool  and  scourge  of  a 
hostile  government,  might  have  calculated  upon  shelter  and 
secrecy  from  those  belonging  to  his  own  creed.  And  so  in- 
deed, in  nineteen  cases  out  of  twenty  he  might ;  but  in  what 
predicament  should  he  find  himself  if  the  twentieth  proved 
treacherous?  And  against  this  he  had  no  guarantee.  That 
age  was  peculiarly  marked  by  the  foulest  personal  perfidy,  pre- 
cipitated into  action  by  rapacity,  ingratitude,  and  the  blackest 
ambition.  The  son  of  a  Roman  Catholic  gentleman,  for  in- 
stance, had  nothing  more  to  do  than  change  his  creed,  attach 
himself  to  the  government,  become  a  spy  and  informer  on 
his  family,  and  he  ousted  his  own  father  at  once  out  of  his 
hereditary  property — an  ungrateful  and  heinous  proceeding, 
that  was  too  common  in  the  time  of  which  we  write.  Then, 
as  to  the  people  themselves,  they  were,  in  general,  steeped  in 
poverty  and  ignorance,  and  this  is  certainly  not  surprising  when 
we  consider  that  no  man  durst  educate  them.  The  govern- 
ment rewards,  therefore,  assailed  them  with  a  double  tempta- 
tion. In  the  first,  the  amount  of  it — taking  their  poverty  into 
considerable, — -was  calculated  to  grapple  with  and  overcome 


WILL  Y  REILL  K 


139 


their  scruples  ;  and  in  the  next,  they  were  certain  by  their 
treachery  to  secure  the  protection  of  government  for  them- 
selves. 

Such,  exactly,  was  the  state  of  the  country  on  the  night 
when  Reilly  found  himself  a  solitary  traveller  on  the  road, 
ignorant  of  his  destiny,  and  uncertain  where  or  in  what  quarter 
he  miglit  seek  shelter  until  morning. 

He  had  not  gone  far  when  he  overtook  another  traveller, 
with  whom  he  entered  into  conversation. 

"God  save  you,  my  friend." 

"God  save  you  kindly,  sir,"  replied  the  other;  "was  not 
this  an  awful  night?" 

"  If  you  may  say  so,"  returned  Reilly  unconsciously,  and 
for  the  moment  forgetting  himself,  "well  may  I,  my  friend." 

Indeed  it  is  probable  that  Reilly  was  thrown  somewhat  off 
his  guard  by  the  accent  of  his  companion,  from  which  he  at 
once  inferred  that  he  was  a  Catholic. 

"  Why,  sir,"  replied  the  man,  "  how  could  it  be  more  awful 
to  you  than  to  any  other  man  .''" 

"  Suppose  my  house  was  blown  down,"  said  Reilly,  "  and 
that  yours  was  rjot,  would  not  that  be  cause  sufficient.'" 

"  J/v  house  ! "  exclaimed  the  man  with  a  deep  sigh  ;  "but 
sure  you  ought  to  know,  sir,  that  it's  not  every  man  has  a 
house." 

"  And  perhaps  I  do  know  it." 

"Wasn't  that  a  terrible  act,  sir — the  burning  of  Mr, 
Reilly's  house  and  place?" 

"Who  is  Mr.  Reilly?"  asked  the  other. 

"A  Catholic  gintleman,  sir,  that  the  soldiers  are  afther," 
replied  the  man. 

"And  perhaps  it  is  right  that  they  should  be  after  him. 
W'hat  did  he  do?  The  Catiiolics  are  too  much  in  the  habit 
of  violating  the  law,  especially  their  priests,  who  persist  in 
marrying  Protestants  and  Papists  together,  although  they 
know  it  is  a  hanging  matter.  If  they  deliberately  put  their 
necks  into  the  noose,  who  can  pity  them?" 

"  It  seems  they  do,  then,"  replied  the  man  in  a  subdued 
voice  ;  "  and  what  is  still  more  strange,  it  very  often  happens 
that  persons  of  their  own  creed  are  somewhat  too  ready  to 
come  down  wid  a  harsh  word  upon  'em." 

"Well,  my  friend,"  responded  Reilly,  "let  them  not  de- 
serve it  ;  let  them  obey  the  law." 

"  And  are  you  of  opinion,  sir,"  asked  the  man  with  a  sig- 
nificant emphasis  upon  the  personal  pronoun  which  we  have 


130 


WILL  Y  REILL  Y. 


put  in  italics;  "are  you  of  opinion,  sir,  that  obedience  to  the 
law  is  a/ways  a  security  to  ii\\.\-ni.r  person  or  property  V 

The  direct  force  of  the  question  could  not  be  easily  parried, 
at  least  by  Reilly,  to  whose  circumstances  it  applied  so  power- 
fully, and  he  consequently  paused  for  a  little  to  shape  his 
thoughts  into  the  language  he  wished  to  adopt ;  the  man, 
however,  proceeded  : 

"  I  wonder  what  Mr.  Reilly  would  say  if  such  a  question 
was  put  to  him  ? " 

"  I  suppose,"  replied  Reilly,  "he  would  say  much  as  I  say 
— that  neither  innocence  nor  obedience  is  always  a  security 
under  any  law  or  any  constitution  either." 

His  companion  made  no  reply,  and  they  walked  on  for 
some  time  in  silence.  Such  indeed  was  the  precarious  state 
of  the  country  then  that,  although  the  stranger,  from  the 
opening  words  of  theirconversation,  suspected  his  companion 
to  be  no  other  than  Willy  Reilly  himself,  yet  he  hesitated  to 
avow  the  suspicions  he  entertained  of  his  identity,  although  he 
felt  anxious  to  repose  the  fullest  confidence  in  him;  and 
Reilly,  on  the  other  hand,  though  perfectly  aware  of  the  true 
character  of  his  companion,  was  influenced  in  their  conver- 
sation by  a  similar  feeling.  Distrust  it  could  not  be  termed 
on  either  side,  but  simply  the  operation  of  that  general  cau- 
tion which  was  generated  by  the  state  of  the  times,  when  it 
was  extremely  difficult  to  know  ttie  individual  on  whom  you 
could  place  dependence.  Reilly's  generous  nature,  however, 
could  bear  this  miserable  manceuvring  no  longer. 

"  Come,  my  friend,"  said  he,  "  we  have  been  beating  about 
the  bush  with  each  other  to  no  purpose  ;  although  I  know  not 
your  name,  yet  I  think  I  do  your  profession." 

"And  I  would  hold  a  wager,"  replied  the  other,  "that  Mr. 
Reilly,  whose  house  was  burned  down  by  a  villain  this  night, 
is  not  a  thousand  miles  from  me  " 

"  And  suppose  you  are  right  ?  " 

"  Then,  upon  my  veracity,  you're  safe,  if  I  am.  It  would 
ill  become  my  cloth  and  character  to  act  dishonorably  or 
contrary  to  the  spirit  of  my  religion. 

*  Non  ignara  mali  miseris  succurrere  disco.' 

You  see,  Mr.  Reilly,  T  couldn't  make  use  of  any  other  gender 
but  the  feminine  without  violating  prosody  ;  for  although  I'm 
not  so  sharp  at  my  Latin  as  I  was,  still  I  couldn't  use  ignar^J, 
as  you  see,  without  fairly  committing  myself  as  a  scholar  ;  and 


WILLY  R EI LLY.'  131 

indeed,  if  I  went  to  that,  it  would  surely  be  the  first  time  I 
have  been  mistaken  for  a  dunce. "^ 

The  honest  priest,  now  that  the  ice  was  broken,  and  con- 
scious that  he  was  in  safe  hands,  fell  at  once  into  his  easy 
and  natural  manner,  and  rattled  away  very  much  to  the 
amusement  of  his  companion.  "  Ah  !  "  he  proceeded,  "  many 
a  character  I  have  been  forced  to  assume." 

"How  is  that?"  inquired  Reilly.  "How  did  it  happen 
that  you  were  forced  into  such  a  variety  of  characters?" 

"  Why,  you  see,  Mr.  Reilly — troth  and  maybe  I  had  better 
not  be  naming  you  aloud  ;  walls  have  ears,  and  so  may  hedges. 
How,  you  ask  ?  Why,  you  see,  I'm  not  registered,  and  con- 
sequently have  no  permission  from  government  to  exercise 
my  functions." 

"Why,"  said  Reilly,  "you  labor  under  a  mistake,  my 
friend  ;  the  bill  for  registering  Catholic  priests  did  not  pass  ; 
it  was  lost  by  a  majority  of  two.  So  far  make  your  mind 
easy.  The  consequence  is,  that  if  you  labor  under  no  eccle- 
siastical censure  you  may  exercise  all  the  functions  of  your 
office — that  is,  as  well  as  you  can,  and  as  far  as  you  dare." 

"  Well,  that  same's  a  comfort,"  said  the  priest ;  "  but  the 
report  was,  and  is,  that  we  are  to  be  registered.  However, 
be  that  as  it  may,  I  have  been  a  perfect  Proteus.  The  met- 
amorphoses of  Ovid  were  nothing  to  mine.  I  have  repre- 
sented every  character  in  society  at  large';  to-day  I've  been 
a  farmer,  and  to-morrow  a  poor  man,*  sometimes  a  fool — a 
rare  character,  you  know,  in  this  world — and  sometimes  a 
fiddler,  for  I  play  a  little." 

"  And  which  character  did  you  prefer  among  them  all  ?  " 
asked  Reilly,  with  a  smile  which  he  could  not  repress. 

"Oh,  in  troth,  you  needn't  ask  that,  Mr.  R— hem— you 
needn't  ask  that.  The  first  morning  I  took  to  the  fiddle  I 
was  about  to  give  myself  up  to  government  at  once.  As  for 
my  part,  I'd  be  ashamed  to  tell  you  how  I  sent  those  that 
were  unlucky  enough  to  hear  my  music  scampering  across  the 
country. 

"  And,  pray,  how  long  is  that  since  ?  " 

"  Why,  something  better  than  three  weeks,  the  Lord  pity 
me!" 

"  And  what  description  of  dress  did  you  wear  on  that  oc- 
casion ? "  asked  Reilly. 

"  Dress — why,  then,  an  old  yellow  caubeen,  a  blue  frieze 
coat,  and — movrone,  oh  ! — a  striped  breeches.     And  the  worst 

•  A  mendicant. 


'3» 


V/TLLY  REILLY. 


of  it  was,  that  big  Paddy  MulHn,  from  Mullaghmore,  having 
met  me  in  old  Darby  Doyls's,  poor  man,  where  I  went  to  take 
a  little  refreshment,  ordered  in  something  to  eat,  and  began 
to  make  me  play  for  him.  There  was  a  Protestant  in  the 
house,  too,  so  that  I  couldn't  tell  him  who  I  was,  and  I 
accordingly  began,  and  soon  cleared  the  house  of  them.  God 
bless  you,  sir,  you  could  little  dream  of  all  I  went  through. 
I  was  one  day  set  in  the  house  I  was  concealed  in,  in  the  town 
of  Ballyrogan,  and  only  for  the  town  fool,  Art  M'Kenna,  I 
suppose  I'd  have  swung  before  this." 

"How  was  that?"  asked  Reilly. 

"  Why,  sir,  one  day  I  got  the  hard  word  that  they  would 
be  into  the  house  where  I  was  in  a  few  minutes.  To  escape 
them  in  my  own  dress  I  knew  was  impossible ;  and  what  was 
to  be  done  ?  The  poor  fool,  who  was  as  true  as  steel,  came 
to  my  relief.  '  Here,' said  he,  'exchange  wid  me.  I'll  put 
on  your  black  clothes,  and  you'll  put  on  my  red  ones  ' — he  was 
dressed  like  an  old  soldier — '  then  I'll  take  to  my  scrapers, 
and  while  they  are  in  pursuit  of  me  you  can  escape  to  some 
friend's  house,  where  you  may  get  another  dress.  God  knows,' 
said  he,  with  a  grin  on  him  I  didn't  like,  '  it's  a  poor  exchange 
on  my  part.  You  can  play  the  fool,  and  cock  your  cap,  with- 
out anyone  to  ask  you  for  authority,'  says  he,  '  and  if  I  only 
marry  a  wrong  couple  I  may  be  hanged.  Go  off  now.'  Well, 
sir,  out  I  walked,  dressed  in  a  red  coat,  military  hat,  white 
knee-breeches,  and  black  leggings.  As  I  was  going  out  I  met 
the  soldiers.  'Is  the  priest  inside.  Art?'  they  asked.  I 
pointed  in  a  wrong  direction.  'Up  by  Kilclay?'  I  nodded. 
They  first  searched  the  house,  however,  but  found  neither  priest 
nor  fool  ;  only  one  of  them,  something  sharper  than  the  rest, 
went  out  of  the  back  door,  and  saw  unfortunate  Art,  dressed 
m  black,  running  for  the  bare  life.  Of  course  they  thought 
it  was  me  they  had.  Off  they  started  ;  and  a  tolerable  chase 
Art  put  them  to.  At  last  he  was  caught,  after  a  run  across 
the  country  of  about  four  miles  ;  but  ne'er  a  word  came  out  of 
his  lips,  till  a  keen  fellow,  on  looking  closely  at  him,  dis- 
covered his  mistake.  Some  of  them  were  then  going  to  kill 
the  poor  fool,  but  others  interfered,  and  wouldn't  allow  him 
to  be  touclied  ;  and  many  of  them  laughed  heartily  when  they 
saw  Art  turned  into  a  clergyman,  as  they  said.  Art,  however,^ 
was  no  coward,  and  threatened  to  read  every  man  of  them  out 
from  the  altar.  '  I'll  exkimnicate  every  mother's  son  of  you,' 
said  he.  '  I'm  a  reverend  clargy  ;  and,  by  the  contents  of  my 
soger's  cap,  I'll  close  the  mouths  on  your  faces,  so  that  a 


WILL  y  REILL  V.  133 

blessed  pratie  or  a  boult  of  fat  bacon  will  never  go  down  one 
of  yourvillanous  throats  again;  and  then,'  he  added,  '  I'll  sell 
you  for  scarecrows  to  the  Pope  o  Room,  who  wants  a  dozen 
or  two  of  you  to  sweep  out  his  palace.'  It  was  then,  sir,  that, 
while  I  was  getting  out  of  my  red  clothes,  I  was  transformed 
ag^in  ;  but,  indeed,  the  most  of  us  are  so  now,  God  help  us  !" 

They  had  now  arrived  at  a  narrow  part  of  the  road,  when 
the  priest  stood. 

"  Mr.  Reilly,"  said  he,  "  I  am  very  tired  ;  but,  as  it  is,  we 
must  go  on  a  couple  of  miles  further,  until  we  reach  Glen 
Dhu,  where  I  think  I  can  promise  you  a  night's  lodging,  such 
as  it  will  be." 

"  I  am  easily  satisfied,"  replied  his  companion  ;  "  it  would 
be  a  soft  bed  that  would  win  me  to  repose  on  this  night,  at 
least." 

"  It  will  certainly  be  a  rude  and  rough  one,"  said  the 
priest,  "and  there  will  be  few  hearts  there  free  from  care,  no 
more  than  yours,  Mr.  Reilly.  Alas  !  that  I  should  be  obliged 
to  say  so  in  a  Christian  country." 

"You  say  you  are  fatigued,"  said  Reilly.  "Take  my 
arm  ;  I  am  strong  enough  to  yield  you  some  support. 

The  priest  did  so,  and  they  proceeded  at  a  slower  pace, 
until  they  got  over  the  next  two  miles,  when  the  priest  stopped 
again. 

"I  must  rest  a  little,"  said  he,  "although  we  are  now 
within  a  hundred  yards  of  our  berth  for  the  night.  "  Do  you 
know  where  you  are  ?  " 

"  Perfectfy,"  replied  Reilly  ;  "  but,  good  mercy  !  sure  there 
is  neither  house  nor  home  within  two  miles  of  us.  We  are  in 
the  moors,  at  the  very  mouth  of  Glen  Dhu  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  his  companion,  "  and  I  am  glad  we  are 
here." 

The  poor  hunted  priest  felt  himself,  indeed,  very  much  ex- 
hausted, so  much  so  that,  if  the  termination  of  his  journey 
had  been  at  a  much  longer  distance  from  thence,  he  would 
scarcely  have  been  able  to  reach  it. 

"  God  help  our  unhappy  Church,"  said  he,  "  for  she  is 
suffering  much  ;  but  still  she  is  suffering  nobly,  and  with 
such  Christian  fortitude  as  will  make  her  days  of  trial  and 
endurance  the  brightest  in  her  annals.  All  that  power  and 
persecution  can  direct  against  us  is  put  in  force  a  thousand 
ways  ;  but  we  act  under  the  consciousness  that  we  have  God 
and  truth  on  our  side,  and  this  gives  us  strength  and  courage 
to  suffer.     And  if  we  fly  Mr.  Reilly,  and  hide  ourselves,  it  is 


134  WILLY  REILLY. 

not  from  any  moral  cowardice  we  do  so.  It  certainly  is  not 
true  courage  to  expose  our  lives  wantonly  and  unnecessarily 
to  the  vengeance  of  our  enemies.  Read  the  Old  Testament 
and  history,  and  you  will  find  how  many  good  and  pious  men 
have  sought  shelter  in  wildernesses  and  caves,  as  we  have 
done.  The  truth  is,  we  feel  ourselves  called  upon  for  the 
sake  of  our  suffering  and  neglected  flocks,  to  remain  in  the 
country,  and  to  afford  them  all  the  consolation  and  religious 
support  in  our  power,  God  help  them.'" 

"  I  admire  the  justice  of  your  sentiments,"  replied  Reilly, 
"  and  the  spirit  in  which  they  are  expressed.  Indeed  I  am 
of  opinion  that  if  those  who  foster  and  stimulate  this  detest- 
able spirit  of  persecution  against  you  only  knew  how  cer- 
tainly and  surely  it  defeats  their  purpose,  by  cementing  your 
hearts  and  the  hearts  of  your  flocks  together,  they  would 
not,  from  the  principles  even  of  worldly  policy,  persist  in  it. 
The  man  who  attempted  to  break  down  the  arch  by  heaping  ad- 
ditional weight  upon  it  ultimately  found  that  the  greater  the 
weight  the  stronger  the  arch,  and  so  I  trust  it  will  be  with  us." 

"  It  would  seem,"  said  the  priest.  "  to  be  an  attempt  to 
exterminate  the  religion  of  the  people  by  depriving  them  of 
their  pastors,  and  consequently  of  their  Church,  in  t>rder  to 
bring  them  to  the. impression  that,  upon  the  principle  of  any 
Church  being  better  than  no  Church,  they  may  gradually  be 
absorbed  into  Protestantism.  This  seems  to  be  their  policy  ; 
but  how  can  any  policy,  based  upon  such  persecution,  and 
so  grossly  at  variance  with  human  liberty,  ever  succeed  ?  As 
it  is,  we  go  out  in  the  dead  hours  of  the  night,  when  even  per- 
secution is  asleep,  and  administer  the  consolations  of  religion 
to  the  sick,  the  dying,  and  the  destitute.  Now  these  stolen 
visits  are  sweeter,  perhaps,  and  more  efficacious,  than  if  they 
took  place  in  freedom  and  the  open  day.  Again,  we  educate 
their  children  in  the  principles  of  their  creed,  during  the  same 
lonely  hours,  in  waste  houses,  where  we  are  obliged  to  keep 
the  windows  stuffed  with  straw,  or  covered  with  blinds  of 
some  sort,  lest  a  chance  of  discovery  might  ensue.  Such  is 
the  life  we  lead — a  life  of  want  and  misery  and  suffering,  but 
we  complain  not ;  on  the  contrary,  we  submit  ourselves  to 
the  will  of  God,  and  receive  this  severe  visitation  as  a  chas- 
tisement intended  for  our  good." 

The  necessities  of  our  narrative,  however,  compel  us  to 
leave  them  here  for  the  present  ;  but  not  without  a  hope  that 
they  found  shelter  for  the  night,  as  we  trust  we  shall  be  able 
to  show. 


WILLY  REILLY.  i^^ 


CHAPTER  IX. 

REILLY's    adventure    continued — A    PROSPECT   OF     BY-GONE 
TIMES — REILLY  GETS  A  BED  IN  A  CURIOUS  ESTABLISHMENT. 

We  now  beg  our  readers  to  accompany  us  to  the  library 
of  Sir  Robert  Whltecraft,  where  that  worthy  gentleman  sits, 
with  a  bottle  of  Madeira  before  him  ;  for  Sir  Robert,  in  ad- 
dition to  his  many  other  good  qualities,  possessed  that  of 
being  a  private  drinker.  The  bottle,  we  say,  was  before  him, 
and  with  a  smile  of  triumph  and  satisfaction  on  his  face,  he 
arose  and  rang  the  bell.  In  a  few  minutes  a  liveried  servant 
attended  it. 

"  Carson,  send  O'Donnel  here."  • 

Carson  bowed  and  retired,  and  in  a  few  minutes  the  Red 
Rapparee  entered. 

"  How  .s  this,  O'Donnel  ?  Have  you  thrown  aside  your 
uniform  ? '" 

"  I  didn't  think  I'd  be  called  out  on  duty  again  to-night, 
sir." 

"  It  doesn't  matter,  O'Donnel — it  doesn't  matter.  What 
do  you  think  of  the  bonfire  ?  " 

"Begad,  it  was  a  beauty,  sir,  and  well  managed." 

"  Ay,  but  I  am  afraid,  O'Donnel,  I  went  a  little  too  far — 
that  I  stretched  my  authority  somewhat." 

"  But  isn't  he  a  rebel  and  an  outlaw,  Sir  Robert  ?  and  in 
that  case — " 

*'  Yes,  O'Donnel  ;  and  a  rebel  and  an  outlaw  of  my  own 
making,  which  is  the  best  of  it.  The  fellow  might  have  lain 
there,  concocting  his  treason,  long  enough,  only  for  my  vigil- 
ance. However,  it's  all  right.  The  government,  to  which  I 
have  rendered  such  important  services,  will  stand  by  me,  and 
fetch  me  out  of  the  burning — that  is,  if  there  has  been  any 
transgression  of  the  law  in  it.  The  Papists  are  privately  re- 
cruiting for  the  French  service,  and  that  is  felony;  Reilly  also 
was  recruiting  for  the  French  service — was  he  not  ?  " 

"  He  offered  me  a  commission,  sir." 

*'  Very  good  ;  that's  all  right  ?  but  can  you  prove  that  ?  " 

"Why,  I  can  stvear  it,  Sir  Robert." 

"  Better  still.  But  do  you  think  he  is  in  the  country, 
O'Donnel  ? " 


13« 


WILLY  REILLY. 


"  I  would  rather  swear  he  is,  sir,  than  that  he  is  not.  He 
won't  lave  /ler  aisily." 

"  Who  do  you  mean  by  /itrr,  sir  ?  " 

"  I  would  rather  not  name  her,  your  honor,  in  connection 
with  the  vagabond." 

"  That's  delicate  of  you,  O'Donnel  ;  I  highly  approve  of 
your  sentiment.     Here,  have  a  glass  of  wine." 

"  Thank  you,  Sir  Robert  ;  but  have  you  any  brandy,  sir  ? 
My  tongue  is  as  dry  as  a  stick,  wid  that  glorious  bonfire  we 
had  ;  but,  besides,  sir,  I  wish  to  drink  success  to  you  in  all 
your  Mndertakings.  A  happy  marriage,  sir!"  and  he  accom- 
panied the  words  with  a  ferocious  grin. 

"  You  shall  have  one  glass  of  brandy,  O'Donnel,  but  no 
more.     I  wish  you  to  deliver  a  letter  for  me  to-night.     It  is 

to  the  sheriff,  who  dines  with  Lord ,  a  friend  of  mine  ; 

and  I  wish  you  to  deliver  it  at  his  lordship's  house,  where  you 
will  be  sure  to  fin^  him.  The  letter  is  of  the  greatest  impor- 
tance, and  you  will  take  care  to  deliver  it  safely.  No  answer 
by  you  is  required.  He  was  out  to-day,  levying  fines  from 
Popish  priests,  and  a  heavy  one  from  the  Popish  bishop,  and 
I  do  not  think,  with  a  large  sum  of  money  about  him,  that  he 
will  go  home  to-night.  Here  is  the  letter.  I  expect  he  will 
call  on  me  in  the  morning,  to  breakfast — at  least  I  have  asked 
him,  for  we  have  very  serious  business  to  discuss." 

The  Rapparee  took  the  letter,  finished  his  glass  of  brandy, 
and  disappeared  to  fulfij  his  commission. 

Now  it  so  happened  that  on  that  very  evening,  before  the 
premises  had  been  set  on  fire,  Mary  Mahon,  by  O'Donnel's 
order,  had  entered  the  house,  and  under,  as  it  were,  the  pro- 
tection of  the  military,  gathered  up  as  much  of  Reilly's 
clothes  and  linen  as  she  could  conveniently  carry  to  hei 
cottage,  which  was  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  Whitecraft's 
residence — it  being  the  interest  of  this  hypocritical  voluptuary 
to  have  the  corrupt  wretch  near  him.  The  Rapparee,  having 
left  Whitecraft  to  his  reflections,  immediately  directed  his 
steps  to  her  house,  and,  with  her  connivance,  changed  the 
dress  he  had  on  for  one  which  he  had  taken  from  Reilly's  ward- 
robe. He  then  went  to  the  house  of  the  nobleman  where  the 
sheriff  was  dining,  but  arrived  only  in  time  to  hear  that  he 
was  about  to  take  horse  on  his  return  home.  On  seeing  him 
preparing  to  mount,  bearing  a  lantern  in  his  hand,  as  the 
night  was  dark  and  the  roads  bad,  he  instantly  changed  his 
purpose  as  to  the  letter,  and  came  to  the  resolution  of  not 
delivering  it  at  all. 


WILL  Y  REILL  Y.  1 57 

**I  can  easily  say,"  thought  he,  "that  the  sheriff  hiftgone 
home  before  I  came,  and  that  will  be  a  very  sufficient  excuse. 
In  the  mean  time,"  he  added,  "  I  will  cross  the  country  and  be 
out  on  the  road  before  him." 

The  sheriff  vvas  not  unarmed,  however,  and  felt  himself 
tolerably  well  prepared  for  any  attack  that  might  be  made  on 
him  ;  and,  besides,  he  was  no  coward.  After  a  ride  of  about 
two  miles  he  found  himself  stopped,  and  almost  at  the  same 
instant  the  lantern  that  he  carried  was  knocked  out  of  his 
hand  and  extinguished,  but  not  until  he  caught  a  slight  glimpse 
of  the  robber's  person,  who,  from  his  dress,  appeared  to  be  a 
man  much  above  the  common  class.  Quick  as  lightning  he 
pulled  out  one  of  his  pistols,  and,  cocking  it,  held  himself  in 
readiness.  The  night  was  dark,  and  this  preparation  for  self- 
defence  was  unknown  to  his  assailant.  On  feeling  the  reins 
of  his  horse's  bridle  in  the  hands  of  the  robber,  he  snapped 
the  pistol  at  his  head,  but  alas  !  it  only  flashed  in  the  pan. 
The  robber,  on  the  other  hand,  did  not  seem  anxious  to  take 
his  life,  for  it  was  a  principle  among  the  rapparees  to  shed 
while  exercising  their  rapacious  functions,  as  little  blood  as 
possible.  They  have  frequently  taken  life  from  a  feeling  of 
private  vengeance,  but  not  often  while  robbing  on  the  king's 
highway.  The  sheriff,  now  finding  that  one  pistol  had  missed, 
was  about  to  draw  out  the  second,  when  he  was  knocked  in- 
sensible off  his  horse,  and  on  recovering  found  himself  minus 
the  fines  which  he  had  that  day  levied — all  the  private  cash 
about  him — and  his  case  of  pistols.  This  indeed  was  a  bitter 
incident  to  him  ;  because,  in  addition  to  the  loss  of  his 
private  purse  and  firearms — which  he  valued  as  nothing — he 
knew  that  he  was  responsible  to  government  for  the  amount 
of  the  fines. 

With  considerable  difficulty  he  was  able  to  remount  his 
horse,  and  with  a  sense  of  stupor,  which  was  very  painful,  he 
recommenced  his  journey  home.  After  a  ride  of  about  two 
miles  he  met  three  horsemen,  who  immediately  challenged  him 
and  demanded  his  name  and  residence. 

"  I  am  the  sheriff  of  the  county,"  he  replied,  "  and  have 
been  robbed  of  a  large  sum  of  money  and  my  pistols  ;  and 
now,  he  added,  "  may  I  beg  to  know  who  you  are,  and  by 
what  authority  you  demand  my  name  and  residence  ? " 

''Excuse  us,  Mr.  Sheriff,"  they  replied;  "we  belong  to 
the  military  detachment  which  government  has  placed  under 
the  control  of  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft." 

"  Oh,  indeed,"  exclaimed  the  sheriff  :  "  X  wish  to  heaven 


128  WILL  Y  RE  ILL  Y. 

m 
you  had  been  a  little  more  advanced  on  your  journey  ;  you 

might  have  saved  me  from  being  plundered,  as  I   have  been, 
and  probably  secured  the  robber." 

"  Could  you  observe,  sir,  what  was  the  villain's  appear- 
ance ?  " 

"  I  had  a  small  lantern,"  replied  the  functionary,  "  by 
which  I  caught  a  brief  but  uncertain  glance  of  him.  I  am 
not  quite  certain  that  I  could  recognize  his  features,  though, 
if  I  saw  him  again — but  perhaps  I  might;  certainly  I  could 
his  dress.' 

"  How  was  he  dressed  ?  "  they  inquired. 
"  Quite  beyond  the  common,"  said  the  sheriff  ;  "  I  think 
he  had  on  a  brown  coat,  of  superior  cloth  and  make,   and  I 
think,  too,  the  buckles  of  his  shoes  were  silver." 
"  And  his  features,  Mr.  Sheriff .?  " 

"  I  cannot  exactly  say,"  he  returned  ;  "  I  was  too  much 
agitated  to  be  able  to  recollect  them  ;  but  indeed  the  dim 
glimpse  I  got  was  too  brief  to  afford  me  an  opportunity  of 
seeing  them  with  anything  like  distinctness." 

"  From  the  description  you  have  given,  sir,"  said  one  of 
them,  "  the  man  who  robbed  you  must  have  been  Reilly  the 
Outlaw.  That  is  the  very  dress  he  has  been  in  the  habit  of 
wearing.     Was  he  tall,  sir,  and  stout  in  person  ?" 

"He  was  a  very  large  man,  certainly,"  replied  the  sheriff; 
"and  I  regret  I  did  not  see  his  face  more  distinctly." 

"  It  can  be  no  other,  Mr.  Sheriff,"  observed  the  man  ; 
"  the  fellow  has  no  means  of  living  now,  unless  by  levying 
contributions  on  the  road.  For  my  part,  I  think  the  scoun- 
drel can  make  himself  invisible  ;  but  it  must  go  hard  with 
us  or  we  will  secure  him  yet.  Would  you  wish  an  escort 
home,  Mr.  Sheriff  ?  because,  if  you  do,  we  shall  accompany 
you." 

"  No,"  replied  the  other,  "  I  thank  you.  I  would  not 
have  ventured  home  unattended  if  the  Red  Rapparee  had 
still  been  at  his  vocation,  and  his  gang  undispersed  ;  but  as 
he  is  now  on  the  safe  side,  I  apprehend  no  danger." 

"  It's  not  at  all  impossible  but  Reilly  may  step  into  his 
shoes,"  said  the  cavalryman. 

"  I  have  now  neither  money  nor  arms,"  continued  the 
sheriff;  "nothing  the  villain  robbers  could  covet,  and  what, 
then,  have  I  to  fear  ?  " 

"You  have  a  life,  sir,"  observed  the  man  respectfully, 
"  and  if  you'll  allow  me  to  say  it — the  life  of  a  man  who  is  not 
very  well  liked  in  the  country,    in   consequence   of  certain 


WILL  V  REILL  V.  139 

duties  you  are  obliged  to  perform.     Come,  then,  sir,  we  shall 

see  you  home." 

It  was  so  arranged,  and  the  sheriff  reached  his  own  resi- 
dence, under  their  escort,  with  perfect  safety. 

This  indeed  was  a  night  of  adventure  to  Reilly — hunted, 
as  he  was,  like  a  beast  of  prey.  After  what  had  taken  place 
already  in  the  early  portion  of  it,  he  apprehended  no  further 
pursuit,  and  in  this  respect  he  felt  his  mind  comparatively  at 
ease — for,  in  addition  to  any  other  conviction  of  his  safety,  he 
knew  that  the  night  was  far  advanced,  and  as  the  country 
was  unsettled,  he  was  not  ignorant  that  the  small  military 
parties  that  were  in  the  habit  of  scouring  the  country  gener- 
ally— unless  when  in  the  execution  of  some  express  duty — 
retired  to  their  quarters  at  an  early  hour,  in  order  to  avoid 
the  severe  retaliations  which  were  frequently  made  upon  them 
by  the  infuriated  peasantry  whom  they — or  rather  the  govern- 
ment which  employed  them — had  almost  driven  to  madness, 
and  would  have  driven  to  insurrection  had  the  people  pos- 
sessed the  means  of  rising.  As  it  was,  however,  he  dreaded 
no  further  pursuit  this  night,  for  the  reasons  which  we  have 
stated. 

In  the  mean  time  the  sheriff,  feeling  obliged  by  the  civility 
of  the  three  dragoons,  gave  them  refreshments  on  a  very 
liberal  scale,  of  which — rather  exhausted  as  they  were — they 
made  a  very  liberal  use.  Feeling  themselves  now  consider- 
ably stimulated  by  liquor,  they  mounted  their  horses  and  pro- 
ceeded towards  their  barracks  at  a  quick  pace.  In  conse- 
quence of  the  locality  in  which  the  sheriff  lived,  it  was 
necessary  that  they  should  travel  in  a  direction  opposite  to 
that  by  which  Reilly  and  the  priest  were  going.  At  all  events, 
after  riding  a  couple  of  miles,  they  overtook  three  infantry 
soldiers  who  were  also  on  their  way  to  quarters.  The  blood, 
however,  of  the  troopers  was  up — thanks  to  the  sheriff  ;  they 
mentioned  the  robbery,  and  requested  the  three  infantry  to 
precede  them  as  an  advanced  guard,  as  quietly  as  possible, 
stating  that  there  might  still  be  a  chance  of  coming  across 
the  villain  who  had  plundered  the  sheriff,  intimating  their  im- 
pression, at  the  same  time,  that  Reilly  was  the  man,  and  add- 
ing that  if  they  could  secure  him  their  fortune  was  made.  As 
has  always  been  usual  in  executing  cases  of  the  law  attended 
with  peculiar  difficulty,  these  men — the  infantry — like  our 
present  detectives,  had  gone  out  that  night  in  colored  clothes. 
On  perceiving  two  individuals  approaching  them  in  the  dim 
distance,  they  immediately  threw  their  guns  into  the  ditch, 


140 


WILLY  REILLY. 


lest  they  should  put  our  friends  on  their  guard  and  cause 
them  to  escape  if  they  could.  Reilly  could  have  readily  done 
so  ;  but  having,  only  a  few  minutes  before,  heard  from  the 
poor  old  priest  that  he  had,  for  some  months  past,  been 
branded  and  pursued  as  a  felon,  he  could  not  think  of  aban- 
doning him  now  that  he  was  feeble  and  jaded  with  fatigue  as 
well  as  with  age.  Now  it  so  happened  that  one  of  these 
fellows  had  been  a  Roman  Catholic,  and  having  committed 
some  breach  of  the  law,  found  it  as  safe  as  it  was  convenient 
to  change  his  creed,  and  as  he  spoke  the  Irish  language 
fluently — indeed  there  was  scarcely  any  other  then  spoken  by 
the  peasantry — he  commenced  clapping  his  hand?  on  seeing 
the  two  men,  and  expressing  the  deepest  sorrow  for  the  loss 
of  his  wife,  from  whose  funeral,  it  appeared  from  his  lamen- 
tations, he  was  then  returning. 

"  We  have  nothing  to  apprehend  here,"  said  Reilly ; 
"  this  poor  fellow  is  in  sorrow,  \t  seems — God  help  him  ! 
Let  us  proceed." 

"  Oh  !  "  exclaimed  the  treacherous  villain,  clapping  his 
hands — [we  translate  his  words] — "Oh,  Yceah  I  Yeeahf* 
what  a  bitther  loss  you'll  be,  my  darlin'  Madge,  to  me  and 
your  orphan  childher,  now  and  for  evermore  !  Oh,  where 
was  there  sich  a  wife,  neighbors  ?  who  ever  heard  her  harsh 
word,  or  her  loud  voice  ?  And  from  mornin'  till  night  ever, 
ever  busy  in  keepin'  everything  tight  and  clane  and  regular  ! 
Let  me  alone,  will  yez  ?  I'll  go  back  and  sleep  upon  her 
grave  this  night — so  I  will ;  and  if  all  the  blasted  sogers  in 
Ireland — may  sweet  bad  luck  to  them  ! — were  to  come  to  pre- 
'vent  me,  I'd  not  allow  them.  Oh,  Madge,  darlin',  but  I'm 
the  lonely  and  heartbroken  man  widout  you  this  night !  " 

"  Come,  come,"  said  the  priest,  "  have  firmness,  poor 
man  ;  other  people  have  these  calamities  to  bear  as  well  as 
yourself.     Be  a  man." 

"  Oh,  are  you  a  priest,  sir  ?  bekase  if  you  are  I  want  con- 
solation if  ever  a  sorrowful  man  did." 

"  I  am  a  priest,"  replied  the  unsuspecting  man,  "  and 
anything  I  can  do  to  calm  your  mind,  I'll  do  it." 

He  had  scarcely  uttered  these  words  when  Reilly  felt  his 
two  arms  strongly  pinioned,  and  as  the  men  who  had  seized 
him  were  powerful,  the  struggle  between  him  and  them  was 
dreadful.  The  poor  priest  at  the  same  moment  found  him- 
self also  a  prisoner  in  the  hands  of  the  bereaved  widower,  to 
whom  he  proved  an  easy  victim,  as  he  was  incapable  of  mak-. 

*  God,  God. 


WILLY    REILLY. 


141 


ing  resistance,  which,  indeed,  he  declined  to  attempt.  If  he 
did  not  possess  bodily  strength,  however,  he  was  not  without 
presence  of  mind.  For  whilst  Reilly  and  his  captors  were 
engaged  in  a  fierce  and  powerful  conflict,  he  placed  his  fore- 
finger and  thumb  in  his  mouth,  from  which  proceeded  a 
whistle  so  piercingly  loud  and  shrill  that  it  awoke  the  mid- 
night echoes  around  them.  This  was  considered  by  the 
dragoons  as  a  signal  from  their  friends  in  advance,  and,  with- 
out the  loss  of  a  moment,  they  set  spurs  to  their  horses,  and 
dashed  up  to  the  scene  of  struggle,  just  as  Reilly  had  got  his 
right  arm  extricated,  and  knocked  one  of  his  captors  down.  In 
an  instant,  however,  the  three  dragoons,  aided  by  the  other 
men,  were  upon  him,  and  not  less  than  three  cavalry  pistols 
were  levelled  at  his  head.  Unfortunately,  at  this  moment  the 
moon  began  to  rise,  and  the  dragoons,  on  looking  at  him 
more  closely,  observed  that  he  was  dressed  precisely  as  the 
sheriff  had  described  the  person  who  robbed  him — the  brown 
coat,  light-colored  breeches,  and  silver  buckles — for  indeed 
this  was  his  usual  dress. 

"  You  are  Willy  Reilly,"  said  the  man  who  had  been 
spokesman  in  their  interview  with  the  sheriff:  "you  needn't 
deny  it,  sir — I  know  you  !  " 

"  If  you  know  me,  then,"  replied  Reilly,  "  where  is  the 
necessity  for  asking  my  name  ?  " 

"  I  ask  again,  sir,  what  is  your  name  ?  If  you  be  the 
man  I  suspect  you  to  be,  you  will  deny  it." 

"  My  name,"  replied  the  other,  "  is  William  Reilly,  and 
as  I  am  conscious  of  no  crime  against  society — of  no  offence 
against  the  State — I  shall  not  deny  it. 

"  I  knew  I  was  right,"  said  the  dragoon.  "  Mr,  Reilly, 
you  are  our  prisoner  on  many  charges,  not  the  least  of  which 
is  your  robbery  of  the  sheriff  this  night.  You  must  come 
with  us  to  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft ;  so  must  this  other  person 
who  seems  your  companion." 

"  Not  a  foot  I'll  go  to  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft's  to-night," 
replied  the  priest.  "  I  have  made  my  mind  up  against  such 
a  stretch  at  such  an  hour  as  this  ;  and,  with  the  help  of  God, 
I'll  stick  to  my  resolution." 

"  Why  do  you  refuse  to  go  ?  "  asked  the  man,  a  good  deal 
surprised  at  such  language. 

"  Just  for  a  reason  I  have  :  as  for  that  fellow  being  Willy 
Reilly,  he's  no  more  Willy  Reilly  than  I  am  ;  whatever  he  is, 
however,  he's  a  good  man  and  true,  but  must  be  guided  by 
wiser  heads  than  his  own  ;  and  I  now  tell  him — ay,  and  you 


I4« 


WILL  V  REILL  Y. 


too — that  he  won't  see  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft's  treacherous 
face  to-night,  no  more  than  myself." 

*'  Come,"  said  one  of  them,  "  drag  the  idolatrous  old 
rebel  along.  Come,  my  old  couple-beggar,  there's  a  noose 
before  you." 

He  had  scarcely  uttered  the  words  when  twenty  men, 
armed  with  strong  pikes,  jumped  out  on  the  road  before 
them,  and  about  the  same  number,  with  similar  weapons,  be- 
hind them.  In  fact,  they  were  completely  hemmed  in  ;  and, 
as  the  road  was  narrow  and  the  ditches  high,  they  were  not 
at  all  in  a  capacity  to  make  resistance. 

"  Surrender  your  prisoners,"  said  a  huge  man  in  a  voice 
of  thunder — "  surrender  your  prisoners — here  are  we  ten  to 
one  against  you  ;  or  if  you  don't,  I  swear  there  won't  be  a 
living  man  amongst  you  in  two  minutes'  time.  Mark  us 
well — we  are  every  man  of  us  armed — and  I  will  not  ask  you 
a  second  time." 

As  to  numbers  and  weapons  the  man  spoke  truth,  and  the 
military  party  saw  at  once  that  their  prisoners  must  be 
given  up. 

"  Let  us  have  full  revenge  on  them  now,  boys,"  ex- 
claimed several  voices  ;  "  down  with  the  tyrannical  villains 
that  are  parsecuting  and  murdherin'  the  country  out  of  a 
face.  This  night  closes  their  black  work  ; "  and  as  the 
words  were  uttered,  the  military  felt  themselves  environed 
and  pressed  in  upon  by  upwards  of  five-and-twenty  sharp  and 
bristling  pikes. 

"  It  is  true,  you  may  murder  us,"  replied  the  dragoon  ; 
"  but  we  are  soldiers,  and  to  die  is  a  soldier's  duty.  Stand 
back,"  said  he,  "  for,  by  all  that's  sacred,  if  you  approach 
another  step,  William  Reilly  and  that  rebel  priest  will  fall 
dead  at  your  feet.  We  may  die  then  ;  but  we  will  sell  our 
lives  dearly.     Cover  the  priest,  Robinson." 

"  Boys,"  said  the  priest,  addressing  the  insurgent  party, 
"  hold  back,  for  God's  sake,  and  for  mine.  Remember  that 
these  men  are  only  doing  their  duty,  and  that  whoever  is  to 
be  blamed,  it  is  not  they — no,  but  the  wicked  men  and  cruel 
laws  that  set  them  upon  us.  Why,  now,  if  these  men,  out  of 
compassion  and  a  feeling  of  kindness  to  poor  persecuted 
creatures,  as  we  are,  took  it  into  their  heads  or  their  hearts 
to  let  that  man  and  me  off,  they  would  have  been,  probably, 
treated  like  dogs  for  neglecting  their  duty.  I  am,  as  you 
know,  a  minister  of  God,  and  a  man  of  peace,  whose  duty  it 
is  to  prevent  bloodshed  whenever  I  can,  and  save  human  life, 


WILL  V  REILL  Y. 


143 


whether  it  is  that  of  a  Catholic  or  a  Protestant.  Recollect, 
my  friends,  that  you  will,  every  one  of  you,  have  to  stand  be- 
fore the  judgment  throne  of  God  to  seek  for  mercy  and  salva- 
tion. As  you  hope  for  that  mercy,  then,  at  the  moment  of 
your  utmost  need,  I  implore,  I  entreat  you,  to  show  these 
men  mercy  now,  and  allow  them  to  go  their  way  in  safety." 

"  I  agree  with  every  word  the  priest  has  said,"  added 
Reilly ;  "  not  from  any  apprehension  of  the  threat  held  out 
against  myself,  but  from,  I  trust,  a  higher  principle.  Here 
are  only  six  men,  who,  as  his  reverence  justly  said,  are, 
after  all,  only  in  the  discharge  of  their  public  duty.  On  the 
other  hand,  there  are  at  least  forty  or  fifty  of  you  against 
them.  Now  I  appeal  to  yourselves,  whether  it  would  be  a 
manly,  or  generous,  or  Christian  act,  to  slaughter  so  poor  a 
handful  of  men  by  the  force  of  numbers.  No  :  there  would 
be  neither  credit  nor  honor  in  such  an  act.  I  assure  you,  my 
friends,  it  would  disgrace  your  common  name,  your  common 
credit,  and  your  common  country.  Nay,  it  would  seem  like 
cowardice,  and  only  give  a  handle  to  your  enemies  to  tax  you 
with  it.  But  I  know  you  are  not  cowards,  but  brave  and  gen- 
erous men,  whose  hearts  and  spirits  are  above  a  mean  action. 
If  you  were  cowardly  butchers,  I  know  we  might  speak  to 
you  in  vain  ;  but  we  know  you  are  incapable  of  imbruing 
your  hands,  and  steeping  your  souls,  in  the  guilt  of  unresist- 
ing blood — for  so  I  may  term  it,  where  there  are  so  few 
against  so  many.  My  friends,  go  home,  then,  in  the  name  of 
God,  and,  as  this  reverend  gentleman  said,  allow  these  men 
to  pass  their  way  without  injury." 

"  But  who  are  you? "  said  their  huge  leader,  in  his  terrible 
voice,  "who  presumes  to  lecture  us."*" 

"  I  am  one,"  replied  Reilly,  "  who  has  suffered  more 
deeply,  probably,  than  any  man  here.  I  am  without  house 
or  home,  proscribed  by  the  vengeance  of  a  villain — a  villain 
who  has  left  me  without  a  shelter  for  my  head — who,  this 
night,  has  reduced  my  habitation,  and  all  that  appertained  to 
it,  to  a  heap  of  ashes — who  is  on  my  trail,  night  and  day,  and 
who  will  be  on  my  trail,  in  order  to  glut  his  vengeance 
with  my  blood.  Now,  my  friends,  listen — I  take  God  to  wit- 
ness, that  if  that  man  were  here  at  this  moment,  I  would  plead 
for  his  life  with  as  much  earnestness  as  I  do  for  those  of  the 
men  who  are  here  at  your  mercy.  I  feel  that  it  would  be 
cowardly  and  inhuman  to  take  it  under  such  circumstances  ; 
yes,  and  unworthy  of  the  name  of  William  Reilly.  Now,"  he 
added,  "  these  men  will  pass  safely  to  their  quarters." 


1 44  WILL  Y  RE  ILL  Y. 

As  they  were  about  to  resume  their  journey,  the  person 
who  seemed  to  have  the  command  of  the  military  said  : 

"  Mr.  Reilly,  one  word  with  you  :  I  feel  that  you  have 
saved  our  lives  ;  I  may  requite  you  for  that  generous  act 
yet;"  and  he  pressed  his  hand  warmly  as  he  spoke,  after 
which  they  proceeded  on  their  way. 

That  the  person  of  Reilly  was  not  recognized  by  any  of 
these  men  is  accounted  for  by  a  well-known  custom,  peculiar 
to  such  meetings,  both  then  and  now.  The  individuals  be- 
fore and  around  him  were  all  strangers,  from  distant  parts  of 
the  country  ;  for  whenever  an  outrage  is  to  be  committed,  or 
a  nocturnal  drilling  to  take  place,  the  peasantry  start  across 
the  country,  in  twos  and  threes,  until  they  quietly  reach  some 
lonely  and  remote  spot,  where  their  persons  are  not  known. 

No  sooner  had  he  mentioned  his  name,  however,  than 
there  arose  a  peculiar  murmur  among  the  insurgents — such  a 
murmur  indeed  as  it  was  difficult  to  understand ;  there  was 
also  a  rapid  consultation  in  Irish,  which  was  closed  by  a 
general  determination  to  restrain  their  vengeance  for  that 
night,  at  least,  and  for  the  sake  of  the  celebrated  young 
martyr — for  as  such  thev  looked  upon  him-— to  allow  the 
military  to  pass  on  without  injury.  Reilly  "ihen  addressed 
them  in  Irish,  and  thanked  them,  both  in  his  own  name  and 
that  of  the  priest,  for  the  respect  evinced  by  their  observa- 
tion of  the  advice  they  had  given  them.  The  priest  also 
addressed  them  in  Irish,  aware,  as  he  was,  ihat  one  sentence 
in  that  language,  especially  from  a  person  m  a  superior  rank 
of  life,  carries  more  weight  than  a  whole  oration  in  the  lan- 
guage of  the  Sassenagh.  The  poor  old  man's  mind  was 
once  more  at  ease,  and  after  these  rough,  but  not  intractable, 
men  had  given  three  cheers  for  "  bould  Willy  Reilly,"  three 
more  for  the  Cooleen  J^awfi,  not  forgetting  the  priest,  the 
latter,  while  returning  thanks,  had  them  in  convulsions  of 
laughter. 

''  May  I  never  do  harm."  proceeded  his  reverence  humor- 
ously, "  but  the  first  Christian  duty  that  every  true  Catholic 
ought  to  learn  is  to  whistle  on  his  fingers.  The  moment 
ever  your  children,  boys,  are  able  to  give  a  squall,  clap  their 
forefinger  and  thumb  in  their  mouth,  and  leave  the  rest  to 
nature.  Let  them  talk  of  their  spinnet  and  sinnet,  their 
fiddle  and  their  diddle,  their  dancing  and  their  prancing,  but 
there  is  no  genteel  accomplishment  able  to  be  compared  to  a 
rousing  whistle  on  the  fingers.  See  what  it  did  for  us  to- 
night.    My  soul  to  glory,  but  only  for   it,  Mr.  Reilly  and  I 


WILLY  REILLY.  145 

would  have  soon  taken  a  journey  with  our  heels  foremost ; 
and,  what  is  worse,  the  villains  would  have  forced  us  to  take 
a  bird's-eye  view  of  our  own  funeral  from  the  three  sticks, 
meaning  the  two  that  stand  up,  and  the  third  that  goes  across 
them.*  However,  God's  good,  and,  after  all,  boys,  you  see 
there  is  nothing  like  an  accomplished  education.  As  to  the 
soldiers,  I  don't  think  myself  that  they'll  recover  the  bit  of 
fright  they  got  until  the  new  potatoes  come  in.  Troth,  while 
you  were  gathering  in  about  them,  I  felt  that  the  unfortunate 
vagabonds  were  to  be  pitied  ;  but,  Lord  help  us,  when  men 
are  in  trouble — especially  in  fear  of  their  lives — and  with 
twelve  inches  of  sharp  iron  near  their  breasts,  it's  wonderful 
what  effect  fear  will  have  on  them.  Troth,  I  wasn't  far  from 
feeling  the  same  thing  myself,  only  I  knew  there  was  relief  at 
hand  ;  at  all  events,  it's  well  you  kept  your  hands  off  them, 
for  now,  thank  goodness,  you  can  step  home  without  the 
guilt  of  murder  on  your  souls." 

Father  Maguire,  for  such  was  his  name,  possessed  the  art 
of  adapting  his  language  and  dialect  to  those  whom  he  ad- 
dressed, it  mattered  not  whether  they  were  South,  West,  or 
North  ;  he  was,  in  fact,  a  priest  who  had  never  been  in  any 
college,  but  received  ordination  in  consequence  of  the  severity 
of  the  laws,  whose  operation,  by  banishing  so  many  of  that 
class  from  the  country,  rendered  the  services  of  such  men 
indispensable  to  the  spiritual  wants  of  the  people.  Father 
Maguire,  previous  to  his  receiving  holy  orders,  had  been  a 
schoolmaster,  and  exercised  his  functions  in  that  capacity  in 
holes  and  corners  ;  sometimes  on  the  sheltery  or  sunny  side 
of  a  hedge,  as  the  case  might  be,  and  on  the  other  occasions 
when  and  where  he  could.  In  his  magisterial  capacity,  "  the 
accomplishment "  of  whistling  was  absolutely  necessary  to 
him,  because  it  often  happened  that  in  stealing  in  the  morn- 
ing from  his  retreat  during  the  preceding  night,  he  knew  no 
more  where  to  meet  his  little  flock  of  scholars  than  they  did 
where  to  meet  him,  the  truth  being  that  he  seldom  found  it 
safe  to  teach  two  days  successively  in  the  same  place.  Hav- 
ing selected  the  locality  for  instruction  during  the  day,  he  put 
his  forefinger  and  thumb  into  his  mouth,  and  emitted  a  whistle 
that  went  over  half  the  country.  Having  thus  given  the  sig- 
nal three  times,  his  scholars  began  gradually  and  cautiously 
to  make  their  appearance,  radiating  towards  him  from  all 
directions,  reminding  one  of  a  hen  in  a  farmyard,  who,  hav- 
ing fallen  upon    some  wholesome  crumbs,   she  utters  that 

•  The  gallow*. 


146  WILLY  REILLY. 

peculiar  sound  which  immediately  collects  her  eager  little  flock 
about  her,  in  order  to  dispense  among  them  the  good  things 
she  had  to  give.  Poor  Father  Maguire  was  simplicity  itself, 
for,  although  cheerful,  and  a  good  deal  of  a  humorist,  yet  he 
was  pious,  inoffensive,  and  charitable.  True,  it  is  not  to  be 
imagined  that  he  could  avoid  bearing  a  very  strong  feeling  of 
enmity  against  the  Establishment,  as,  indeed,  we  do  not  see, 
so  long  as  human  nature  is  what  it  is,  how  he  could  have  done 
otherwise ;  he  hated  it,  however,  in  the  aggregate,  not  in 
detail,  for  the  truth  is,  that  he  received  shelter  and  protection 
nearly  as  often  from  the  Protestants  themselves,  both  lay  and 
clerical,  as  he  did  from  those  of  his  own  creed.  The  poor 
man's  crime  against  the  State  proceeded  naturally  from  the 
simplicity  of  his  character  and  the  goodness  of  his  heart.  A 
Protestant  peasant  had  seduced  a  Catholic  young  woman  of 
considerable  attractions,  and  was  prevailed  upon  to  marry 
her,  in  order  to  legitijnize  the  infant  which  she  was  about  to 
bear.  Our  poor  priest,  anxious  to  do  as  much  good,  and  to 
prevent  as  much  evil  as  he  could,  was  prevailed  upon  to  per- 
form the  ceremonv,  contrary  to  the  law  in  that  case  made 
and  provided.  Ever  since  that,  the  poor  man  had  been  upon 
his  keeping  like  a  felon,  as  the  law  had  made  him  ;  but  so 
well  known  were  his  harmless  life,  his  goodness  of  heart,  and 
his  general  benevolence  of  disposition — for,  alas  !  he  was 
incapable  of  being  benevolent  in  any  practical  sense — that, 
unless  among  the  bigoted  ofificials  of  the  day,  there  existed 
no  very  strong  disposition  to  hand  him  over  to  the  clutches 
of  the  terrible  statute  w^hich  he  had,  good  easy  man,  been 
prevailed  on  to  violate. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  formidable  body  who  had  saved 
Reilly's  life  and  his  own  dispersed,  or  disappeared  at  least ; 
but  not  until  they  had  shaken  hands  most  cordially  with 
Reilly  and  the  priest,  who  now  found  themselves  much  in 
the  same  position  in  which  they  stood  previous  to  their  sur- 
prise and  arrest. 

"  Now,"  said  Reilly,  "  the  question  is,  what  are  we  to 
do?  where  are  we  to  go  ?  and  next,  how  did  you  come  to 
know  of  the  existence  in  this  precise  locality  of  such  a  body 
of  men  ? " 

"  Because  I  have  set  my  face  against  such  meetings," 
replied  the  priest.  "  One  of  those  who  was  engaged  to  be 
present  happened  to  mention  the  fact  to  me  as  a  clergyman, 
out  you  know  that,  as  a  clergyman,  I  can  proceed  no  fur- 
ther." 


WILLY  REILLY.  147 

"  I  understand,"  said  Reilly,  "  I  perfectly  understand  you. 
It  is  not  necessary.     And  now  let  me  say — " 

"  Always  trust  in  God,  my  friend,"  replied  the  priest,  in 
an  accent  quite  different  from  that  which  he  had  used  to  the 
peasantry.  "  I  told  you,  not  long  ago,  that  you  would  have 
a  bed  to-night :  follow  me,  and  I  will  lead  you  to  a  crypt  of 
nature's  own  making,  which  was  not  known  to  mortal  man 
three  months  ago,  and  which  is  now  known  only  to  those 
whose  interest  it  is  to  keep  the  knowledge  of  it  silent  as  the 
grave." 

They  then  proceeded,  and  soon  came  to  a  gap  or  opening 
on  the  left-hand  side  of  the  road  through  which  they  passed, 
the  priest  leading.  Next  they  found  themselves  in  a  wild 
gully  or  ravine  that  was  both  deep  and  narrow.  This  they 
crossed,  and  arrived  at  a  ledge  of  precipitous  rocks,  most  of 
which  were  overhung  to  the  very  ground  with  long  luxuriant 
heather.  The  priest  went  along  this  until  he  came  to  one 
particular  spot,  where  he  stooped,  and  observed  a  particular 
round  stone  bedded  naturally  in  the  earth. 

"God — blessed  be  his  name — has  made  nothing  in  vain," 
he  whispered  ;  "  I  must  go  foremost,  but  do  as  I  do."  He 
then  raised  up  the  long  heath,  and  entered  a  low,  narrow 
fissure  in  the  rocks,  Reilly  following  him  closely.  The 
entrance  was  indeed  so  narrow  that  it  was  capable  of  admit- 
tino-  but  one  man  at  a  time,  and  even  that  by  his  working 
himself  in  upon  his  knees  and  elbows.  In  this  manner  they 
advanced  in  utter  darkness  for  about  thirty  yards,  when  they 
reached  a  second  opening,  about  three  feet  high,  which  bore 
some  resemblance  to  a  Gothic  arch.  This  also  it  was  neces- 
sary to  enter  consecutively.  Having  passed  this  they  were 
able  to  proceed  upon  their  legs,  still  stooping,  however,  until, 
as  they  got  onwards,  they  found  themselves  able  to  walk 
erect.  A  third  and  large  opening,  however,  was  still  before 
them,  over  which  hung  a  large  thick  winnow-cloth. 

"  Now,"  said  the  priest,  "  leave  everything  to  me.  \i  we 
were  to  put  our  heads  in  rashly  here  we  might  get  a  pair  of 
bullets  through  them  that  would  have  as  little  mercy  on  us  as 
those  of  the  troopers,  had  we  got  them.  No  clergyman  here, 
or  anywhere  else,  ever  carries  firearms,  but  there  are  laymen 
insideWho  are  not  bound  by  our  regulations.  The  only  arms 
we  are.  allowed  to  carry  are  the  truths  of  our  religion  and  the 
integrity  of  our  lives." 

He  then  advanced  a  step  or  two,  and  shook  the  winnow- 
cloth  three  times,  when  a  deep  voice  from  behind  it  asked. 


148  WILLY  REILLY. 

"  Quis  venit?^'  "■  Introibo  ad  altar e  Dei,"  replied  the  priest, 
who  had  no  sooner  uttered  the  words  than  the  cloth  was  par- 
tially removed,  and  a  voice  exclaimed,  ''''  Benedicite,  dilede 
f rater ;  beatus  qui  venit  in  tiotriine  Domini  ei  sacrosanctct 
Ecdesice. " 

Reilly  and  his  companion  then  entered  the  cave,  which 
they  had  no  sooner  done  than  the  former  was  seized  with  :: 
degree  of  wonder,  astonishment,  and  awe,  such  as  he  had  never 
experienced  in  his  life  before.  The  whole  cavern  was  one 
flashing  scene  of  light  and  beauty,  and  reminded  him  of  the 
gorgeous  descriptions  that  were  to  be  found  in  Arabian  litera- 
ture, or  the  brilliancy  of  the  fairy  palaces  as  he  had  heard  of 
them  in  the  mellow  legends  of  his  own  country.  From  the 
roof  depended  gorgeous  and  immense  stalactites,  some  of 
them  reaching  half  way  to  th-  earth,  and  other,  of  them  rest- 
ing upon  the  earth  itself.  Several  torches,  composed  of  dried 
bog  fir,  threw  their  strong  light  among  them  with  such  effect 
that  the  eye  became  not  only  dazzled  but  fatigued  and  over- 
come by  the  radiance  of  a  scene  so  unusual.  In  fact,  the 
whole  scene  appeared  to  be  out  of,  o*-  beyond,  nature.  There 
were  about  fifteen  individuals  present,  most  of  them  in  odd 
and  peculiar  disguises,  which  gave  them  a  grotesque  and  super- 
natural appear::nce,  as  they  passed  about  with  their  strong 
torches — some  bright  and  some  flashing  red  ;  and  as  the  light 
of  either  one  t.r  other  fell  upon  the  s'.-^lactites,  giving  them  a 
hue  of  singular  brilliancy  or  deep  purple,  Reilly  could  not 
utter  r,  word.  The  costumes  cf  the  individuals  about  him  were 
so  strange  and  varied  that  he  knew  not  what  to  think.  Some 
were  in  the  dress  of  clergymen,  others  in  that  of  ill-clad  peas- 
ants, and  nearly  one-third  of  them  in  the  garb  of  mendicants, 
who,  from  their  careworn  faces,  appeared  to  have  suffered  se- 
verely from  the  persecution  of  the  times.  In  a  few  minutes, 
however,  about  half  a  dozen  diminutive  beings  made  their  ap- 
pearance, busied,  as  far  as  he  could  guess,  in  employments, 
which  his  amazement  at  the  whole  spectacle,  unprepared 
as  he  was  for  ii:,  prevented  him  from  understanding.  If 
he  had  been  a  man  of  weak  or  superstitious  mind,  unac- 
quainted with  life  and  the  w'orld,  it  is  impossible  to  say 
what  he  might  have  imagined.  Independently  of  this — 
strong-minded  as  he  was — the  impression  made  upon  him 
by  the  elf-like  sprites  that  ran  about  so  busily,  almost  in- 
duced him,  for  a  few  moments,  to  surrender  to  the  illusion 
that  he  stood  among  individuals  who  had  little  or  no  natural 
connection  with  man  or  the  external  world  which  he  inhabited. 


WILL  Y  REILL  Y. 


149 


Reflection,  however,  and  the  state  of  the  country,  came  to  his 
aid,  and  he  reasonably  inferred  that  the  cavern  in  which  he 
stood  was  a  place  of  concealment  for  those  unfortunate  indi- 
viduals who,  like  himself,  felt  it  necessary  to  evade  the  ven- 
geance of  the  laws. 

Whilst  Reilly  was  absorbed  in  the  novelty  and  excitement 
of  this  strange  and  all  but  supernatural  spectacle,  the  priest 
held  a  short  conversation,  at  some  distance  from  him,  with 
the  strange  figures  which  had  surprised  him  so  much.  When- 
ever he  felt  himself  enabled  to  take  his  eyes  from  the  splendor 
and  magnificence  of  all  he  saw  around  him,  to  follow  the  mo- 
tions of  Father  Maguire,  he  could  observe  that  that  gentleman, 
from  the  peculiar  vehemence  of  his  attitudes  and  the  evident 
rapidity  of  his  language,  had  made  either  himself  or  his  pres- 
ence there  the  topic  of  very  earnest  discussion.  In  fact  it 
appeared  to  him  that  the  priest,  from  whatever  cause,  appeared 
to  be  rather  hard  set  to  defend  him  and  to  justify  his  presence 
among  them.  A  tall,  stern-looking  man,  with  a  lofty  forehead 
and  pale  ascetic  features — from  which  all  the  genial  impulses 
of  humanity,  that  had  once  characterized  them,  seemed  almost 
to  have  been  banished  by  the  spirit  of  relentless  persecution 
— appeared  to  bear  hard  on  him,  whatever  the  charge  might 
be,  and  by  the  severity  of  his  manner  and  the  solemn  but  un- 
yielding emphasis  of  his  attitudes,  he  seemed  to  have  wrought 
himself  into  a  state  of  deep  indignation.  But  as  it  is  better 
that  our  readers  should  be  made  acquainted  with  the  topic  of 
their  discussion,  rather  than  their  attitudes,  we  think  it  neces- 
sary to  commence  it  in  a  new  chapter. 


CHAPTER  X. 

SCENES   THAT   TOOK    PLACE    IN    THE    MOUNTAIN   CAVE. 

"  I  WILL  not  hear  your  apology,  brother."  said  the  tallman 
with  the  stern  voice  ;  "  your  conduct,  knowing  our  position, 
and  the  state  of  this  unhappy  and  ])erseculed  country,  is  not 
only  indiscreet,  but  foolish,  indefensible,  mad.  Here  is  a  young 
man  attached — may  God  pardon  him — to  the  daughter  of  one 
of  the  most  persecuting  heretics  in  the  kingdom.  She  is 
beautiful,  by  every  report  that  we  have  heard  of  her,  even  as 
an  angel  ;  but  reflect  that  she  is  an  heiress— the  inheritress  0/ 


ICO  WILL  Y  RE  ILL  Y. 

immense  property — and  that,  as  a  matter  of  course,  the  temp- 
tations are  a  thousand  to  one  against  him.  He  will  yield,  I 
tell  you,  to  the  heretic  syren  ;  and  as  a  passport  to  her  father's 
favor  and  her  affection,  he  will,  like  too  many  of  his  class, 
abandon  the  faith  of  his  ancestors,  and  become  an  apostate, 
for  the  sake  of  wealth  and  sensual  affection." 

"  I  question,  my  lord,"  replied  the  priest,  "  whether  it  is 
consistent  with  Christian  charity  to  impute  motives  of  such 
heinous  guilt,  when  we  are  not  in  a  condition  to  bear  out  our 
suspicions.  The  character  of  this  young  gentleman  as  a 
Catholic  is  firm  and  faithful,  and  I  will  stake  my  life  upon  his 
truth  and  attachment  to  our  Church." 

"  You  know  him  not,  father,"  replied  the  bishop,  for  such 
he  was  ;  "  I  tell  you,  and  I  speak  from  better  information 
than  you  possess,  that  he  is  already  suspected.  What  has 
been  his  conduct  ?  He  has  associated  himself  more  with 
Protestants  than  with  those  of  his  own  Church  ,  he  has  dined 
with  them,  partaken  of  their  hospitality,  joined  in  their  amuse- 
ments, slept  in  their  houses,  and  been  with  them  as  a  familiar 
friend  and  boon  companion.  I  see,  father,  what  the  result 
will  necessarily  be  ;  first,  an  apostate — next,  an  informer — 
and,  lastly,  a  persecutor  ;  and  all  for  the  sake  of  wealth  and 
the  seductive  charms  of  a  rich  heiress.  I  say,  then,  that  deep 
in  this  cold  cavern  shall  be  his  grave,  rather  than  have  an  op- 
portunity of  betraying  the  shepherds  of  Christ's  persecuted 
flock,  and  of  hunting  them  into  the  caverns  of  the  earth,  like 
beasts  of  prey.  Our  retreat  here  is  known  only  to  those  who, 
for  the  sake  of  truth  and  their  own  lives,  will  never  disclose 
the  knowledge  of  it,  bound  as  they  are,  in  addition  to  this,  by 
an  oath  of  the  deepest  and  most  dreadful  solemnity — an  oath 
the  violation  of  which  would  constitute  a  fearful  sacrilege  in 
the  eye  of  God.  As  for  these  orphans,  whose  parents  were 
victims  to  the  cruel  laws  that  are  grinding  us,  I  have  so  trained 
and  indoctrinated  them  into  a  knowledge  of  their  creed,  and 
a  sense  of  their  duty,  that  they  are  thoroughly  trustworthy. 
On  this  very  day  I  administered  to  them  the  sacrament  of  con- 
firmation. No,  brother,  we  cannot  sacrifice  the  interests  and 
welfare  of  our  holy  Church  to  the  safety  of  a  single  life — 
to  the  safety  of  a  person  who  I  foresee  will  be  certain  to  be- 
tray us." 

"  My  lord,"  replied  the  priest,  "  I  humbly  admit  your  au- 
thority and  superior  sanctity,  for  in  what  does  your  precious 
life  fall  short  of  martyrdom  but  by  one  step  to  the  elevation 
which  leads  to  glory?  '  I  mean  the  surrendering  of  that  life  for 


IVILLY  RE/LLY. 


151 


the  true  faith.  I  feel,  my  lord,  that  in  your  presence  I  am 
nothing;  still,  in  our  holy  Church  there  is  the  humble  as  well 
as  the  exalted,  and  your  lordship  will  admit  that  the  gradations 
of  piety,  and  the  dispensations  of  the  higher  and  the  lower 
gifts,  proceed  not  only  from  the  wisdom  of  God  but  from  the 
necessities  of  man." 

"  I  do  not  properly  understand  you,  father,"  said  the 
bishop  in  a  voice  whose  stern  tones  were  mingled  with  some- 
thing like  contempt. 

"  I  beg  your  lordship  to  hear  ine,"  proceeded  Father  Ma- 
guire.  "  You  say  that  Reilly  has  associated  more  frequently 
with  Protestants  than  he  has  with  persons  of  our  own  religion. 
That  may  be  true,  and  I  grant  that  it  is  so  ;  but,  my  lord,  are 
you  aware  that  he  has  exercised  the  influence  which  he  has 
possessed  over  them  for  the  protection  and  advantage  and 
safety  of  his  Catholic  friends  and  neighbors,  to  the  very  ut- 
\nost  of  his  ability,  and  frequently  with  success." 

"Yes;  they  obliged  him  because  they  calculated  upon 
his  accession  to  their  creed  and  principles  " 

"  My  lord,"  replied  the  priest  with  firmness,  "  I  am  an 
humble  but  independent  man  ;  if  humanity  and  generosity, 
exercised  as  I  have  seen  them  this  night,  guided  and  di- 
rected by  the  spirit  of  peace,  and  of  the  word  of  God  itself, 
can  afford  your  lordship  a  guarantee  of  the  high  and  Chris- 
tian principles  by  which  this  young  man's  heart  is  actuated, 
then  I  may  with  confidence  recommend  him  to  your  clemency." 

"  What  would  you  say  .''  "  asked  the  bishop. 

"  My  lord,  he  was  the  principal  means  of  saving  the  lives 
of  six  Protestants — heretics,  I  mean — from  being  cut  ofE  in 
their  iniquities  and  sins  this  night." 

"  How  do  you  mean  .''  "  replied  the  stern  bishop  ;  "  ex- 
plain yourself !  " 

The  good  priest  then  gave  a  succinct  account  of  the  cir- 
cumstances with  which  the  reader  is  already  acquainted  ; 
and,  after  having  finished  his  brief  narrative,  the  unfortunate 
man  perceived  that,  instead  of  having  rendered  Reilly  a  ser- 
vice, he  had  strengthened  the  suspicions  of  the  prelate 
against  him. 

"  So  !  "  said  the  bishop,  "  you  advance  the  history  of  this 
dastardly  conduct  as  an  argument  in  his  favor  !  " 

As  he  uttered  these  words,  his  eyes,  which  had  actually 
become  bloodshot,  blazed  again  ;  his  breath  went  and  came 
strongly,  and  he  ground  his  teeth  with  rage. 

Father  Maguire,  and  those  who  were  present,  looked  at 


1^2  WILLY  REILLY. 

each  other  with  eyes  in  which  might  be  read  an  expression 
of  deep  sorrow  and  compassion.  At  length  a  mild-looking, 
pale-faced  man,  with  a  clear,  benignant  eye,  approached  him, 
and  laying  his  hand  in  a  gentle  manner  upon  his  arm,  said, 
"  Pray,  my  dear  lord,  let  me  entreat  your  lordship  to  re- 
member the  precepts  of  our  great  Master:  'Love  your 
enemies  ;  bless  them  that  curse  you  ;  do  good  to  them  that 
hate  you,  and  pray  for  them  that  despitefully  use  you,  and 
persecute  you.'  And  surely,  my  lord,  no  one  knows  better 
than  you  do  that  this  is  the  spirit  of  our  religion,  and  that 
whenever  it  is  violated  the  fault  is  not  that  of  the  creed,  but 
the  man." 

"  Under  any  circumstances,"  said  the  bishop,  declining 
to  reply  to  this,  and  placing  his  open  hand  across  his  fore- 
head, as  if  he  felt  confusion  or  pain — "  under  any  circum- 
stances, this  person  must  take  the  oath  of  secrecy  with  re- 
spect to  the  existence  of  this  cave.     Call  him  up." 

Reilly,  as  we  have  said,  saw  at  once  that  an  angry  discus- 
sion had  taken  place,  and  feft  all  but  certain  that  he  was 
himself  involved  in  it.  The  priest,  in  obedience  to  the  wish 
expressed  by  the  bishop,  went  down  to  where  he  stood,  and 
whispering  to  him,  said  : 

"  Salvation  to  me,  but  I  had  a  hard  battle  for  you.  I 
fought,  however,  like  a  trump.  The  strange  and — ahem — 
kind  of  man  you  are  called  upon  to  meet  now  is  one  of  our 
bishops — but  don't  you  pretend  to  know  that — he  has  heard 
of  your  love  for  the  Cooleen  Bawfi,  and  of  her  love  for  you 
— be  easy  now — not  a  thing  it  will  be  but  the  meeting  of  two 
thunderbolts  between  you — and  he's  afraid  you'll  be  deluded 
by  her  charms — turn  apostate  on  our  hands — and  that  the 
first  thing  you're  likely  to  do,  when  you  get  out  of  this  sub- 
terranean palace  of  ours,  will  be  to  betray  its  existence  to 
the  heretics.  I  have  now  put  you  on  your  guard,  so  keep  a 
sharp  lookout:  be  mild  as  mother's  milk.  But  if  you  '  my 
lord  '  him,  I'm  dished  as  a  traitor  beyond  redemption." 

Now,  if  the  simple-hearted  priest  had  been  tempted  by 
the  enemy  himself  to  place  these  two  men  in  a  position 
where  a  battle-royal  between  them  was  most  likely  to  ensue, 
he  could  not  have  taken  a  more  successful  course -for  that 
object.  Re'illy,  the  firm,  the  high-minded,  the  honorable, 
and,  though  last  not  least,  the  most  indignant  at  any  impu- 
tation against  his  integrity,  now  accompanied  the  priest  in  a 
state  of  indignation  that  was  nearly  a  match  for  that  of  the 
bishop. 


WILL  V  REILL  Y. 


153 


"This  is  Mr.  Reilly,  gentlemen;  a  firm  and  an  honest 
Catholic,  who,  like  ourselves,  is  suffering  for  his  religion." 

"  Mr.  Reilly,"  said  the  bishop,  "  it  is  good  to  suffer  for 
our  religion." 

**  It  is  our  duty,"  replied  Reilly,  "  when  we  are  called 
upon  to  do  so  ;  but  for  my  part,  I  must  confess,  I  have  no 
relish  whatsoever  for  the  honors  of  martyrdom.  I  would 
rather  aid  it  and  assist  it  than  suffer  for  it." 

The  bishop  gave  a  stern  look  at  his  friends,  as  much  as  to 
say  :  "  You  hear  !  incipient  heresy  and  treachery  at  the  first 
step." 

"  He's  more  mad  than  the  bishop,"  thought  Father  Ma- 
guire ;  "in  God's  name  what  will  come  next,  I  wonder.? 
Reilly's  blood,  somehow,  is  up  ;  and  there  they  are  looking 
at  each  other,  like  a  pair  o'  game  cocks,  with  their  necks 
stretched  out  in  a  cockpit — when  I  was  a  boy  I  used  to  go  to 
see  them — ready  to  dash  upon  one  another." 

"  Are  you  not  now  suffering  for  your  religion  ?  "  asked  the 
prelate. 

"  No,"  replied  Reilly,  "  it  is  not  for  the  sake  of  my  re- 
ligion that  I  have  suffered  anything.  Religion  is  made  only 
a  pretext  for  it ;  but  it  is  not,  in  truth,  on  that  account  that  I 
have  been  persecuted." 

"  Pray,  then,  sir,  may  I  enquire  the  cause  of  your  perse- 
cution." 

"  You  may,"  replied  Reilly,  "  but  I  shall  decline  to  an- 
swer you.  It  comes  not  within  your  jurisdiction,  but  is  a 
matter  altogether  personal  to  myself,  and  with  which  you  can 
have  no  concern." 

Here  a  groan  from  the  priest,  which  he  could  not  sup- 
press, was  shivered  off.  by  a  tremendous  effort,  into  a  series 
of  broken  coughs,  got  up  in  order  to  conceal  his  alarm  at  the 
fatal  progress  which  Reilly,  he  thought,  was  unconsciously 
making  to  his  own  ruin. 

"  Troth,"  thought  h'e,  "  the  soldiers  were  nothing  at  all 
to  what  this  will  be.  There  his  friends  would  have  found 
the  body  and  given  him  a  decent  burial ;  but  here  neither 
friend  nor  fellow  will  know  where  to  look  for  him.  I  was 
almost  the  first  man  that  took  the  oath  to  keep  the  existence 
of  this  place  secret  from  all  unless  those  that  were  suffering 
for  their  religion  ;  and  now  by  denying  that,  he  has  me  in  the 
trap  along  with  himself." 

A  second  groan,  shaken  out  of  its  continuity  into  another 
comical  shower  of  fragmeutal  coughs,  closed  this  dreary  but 
siieiit  soliloquy 


154 


WILLY  REILLY. 


The  bishop  proceeded  :  "  You  have  been  inveigled,  young 
man,  by  the  charms  of  a  deceitful  and  heretical  syren,  for 
the  purpose  of  alienating  you  from  the  creed  of  your  fore- 
fathers." 

"  It  is  false,"  replied  Reilly  ;  "false,  if  it  proceeded  from 
the  lips  of  the  Pope  himself ;  and  if  his  lips  uttered  to  me 
what  you  now  have  done,  I.  would  fling  the  falsehood  in  his 
teeth,  as  I  do  now  in  yours — yes,  if  my  life  should  pay  the 
forfeit  of  it.  What  have  you  to  do  with  my  private  con- 
cerns ? " 

Reilly's  indignant  and  impetuous  reply  to  the  prelate 
struck  all  who  heard  it  with  dismay,  and  also  with  horror, 
when  they  bethought  themselves  of  the  consequences. 

"  You  are  a  heretic  at  heart,"  said  the  other,  knitting  his 
brows  ;  ''  from  your  own  language  you  stand  confessed — a 
heretic."  * 

"  I  know  not,"  replied  Reilly,  "  by  what  right  or  authority 
you  adopt  this  ungentlemanly  and  illiberal  conduct  towards 
me  ;  but  so  long  as  your  language  applies  only  to  myself  and 
my  religion,  1  shall  answer  you  in  a  different  spirit.  In  the 
first  place,  then,  you  are  grievously  mistaken  in  supposing  me 
to  be  a  heretic.  I  am  true  and  faithful  to  my  creed,  and  will 
live  and  die  in  it." 

Father  Maguire  felt  relieved,  and  breathed  more  freely  ; 
a  groan  was  coming,  but  it  ended  in  a  "  hem." 

"  Before  we  proceed  any  farther,  sir,"  said  this  strange 
man,  *' you  must  take  an  oath." 

"  For  what  purpose,  sir?"  inquired  Reilly. 

"  An  oath  of  secrecy  as  to  the  existence  of  this  place  of 
our  retreat.  There  are  present  here  some  of  the — "  he 
checked  himself,  as  if  afraM  to  proceed  farther.  "  In  fact, 
every  man  who  is  admitted  amongst  us  must  take  the  oath." 

Reilly  looked  at  him  with  indignation.  "  Surely,"  thought 
he  to  himself,  "  this  man  must  be  mad  ;  his  looks  are  wild, 
and  the  fire  of  insanity  is  in  his  eyes';  if  not,  he  is  nothing 
less  than  an  incarnation  of  ecclesiastical  bigotry  and  folly. 
The  man  must  be  mad,  or  worse."  At  length  he  addressed 
him. 

"  You  doubt  my  integrity  and  my  honor,  then,"  he  replied 
haughtily. 

"  We  doubt  every  man  until  he  is  bound  by  an  oath." 

"  You  must  continue  to  doubt  me,  then,"  replied  Reilly  ; 
"for,  most  assuredly,  I  will  not  take  it," 

"  You   must  take  it,  sir,"  said  the   other,  "  or  you  never 


WILLY  REILLY.  155 

leave  the  cavern  which  covers  you,"  and  his  eyes  once  more 
blazed  as  he  uttered  the  words. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  Reilly,  "  there  appear  to  be  fifteen  or 
sixteen  of  you  present :  may  1  be  permitted  to  ask  wiiy  you 
suffer  this  unhappy  man  to  be  at  large  ?  " 

"  Will  you  take  the  oath,  sir?  "  persisted  the  insane  bishop 
in  a  voice  of  thunder — "  heretic  and  devil,  will  you  take  the 
oath  ? " 

"Unquestionably  not.  I  will  never  take  any  oath  that 
would  imply  want  of  honor  in  myself.  Cease,  then,  to  trouble 
me  with  it.'   I  shall  not  take  it." 

This  last  reply  affected  the  bishop's  reason  so  deeply  that 
he  looked  about  him  strangely,  and  exclaimed,  "  We  are  lost 
and  betrayed.  But  here  are  angels— I  see  them,  and  will 
join  in  their  blessed  society,"  and  as  he  spoke,  he  rushed  to- 
wards the  stalactites  in  a  manner  somewhat  wild  and  violent, 
so  much  so,  indeed,  that  from  an  apprehension  of  his  re- 
ceiving injury  in  some  of  the  dark  interstices  among  them, 
they  found  it  necessary,  for  his  sake,  to  grapple  with  him  for 
a  few  moments. 

But,  alas  !  they  had  very  little  indeed  to  grapple  with. 
The  man  was  but  a  shadow,  and  they  found  him  in  their 
hands  as  feeble  as  a  child.  He  made  no  resistance,  but 
suffered  himself  to  be  managed  precisely  as  they  wished. 
Two  of  the  persons  present  took  charge  of  him,  one  sitting 
on  each  side  of  him.  Reilly,  who  looked  on  with  amazement, 
now  strongly  blended  v.ith  pity — for  the  malady  of  the  un- 
happy ecclesiastic  could  no  longer  be  mistaken — Reilly,  we 
say,  was  addressed  by  an  intelligent-looking  individual,  with 
some  portion  of  the  clerical  costume  about  him. 

"  Alas  !  sir,"  said  he,  "  it  was  not  too  much  learning,  but 
too  much  persecution,  that  has  made  him  mad.  That  and 
the  ascetic  habits  of  his  life  have  clouded  or  destroyed  a 
great  intellect  and  a  good  heart.  He  has  eaten  only  one 
sparing  meal  a  day  during  the  last  month  ;  and  though  se- 
vere and  self  denying  to  himself,  he  was,  until  the  last  week 
or  so,  like  a  father,  and  an  indulgent  one,  to  us  all." 

At  this  moment  the  pale,  mild-looking  clergyman,  to 
whom  we  have  alluded,  went  over  to  where  the  bishop  sat, 
and  throwing  himself  upon  his  bosom,  burst  into  tears.  The 
sorrow  indeed  became  infectious,  and  in  r.  feAv  minutes  there 
were  not  many  dry  eyes  around  him.  Father  Maguire,  who 
was  ignorant  of  the  progressive  change  that  had  taken  place 
in  him  since  his  last  visit  to  the  cave,  now  wept  like  a  child, 


1^6  WILL  Y  REILL  Y. 

and  Rnilly  himself  experienced  something  that  amounted  to 
remorse,  when  he  reflected  on  the  irreverent  tone  of  voice  in 
which  he  had  replied  to  him. 

The  paroxysm,  however,  appeared  to  have  passed  away ; 
he  was  quite  feeble,  but  not  properly  collected,  though  calm 
and  quiet.  After  a  little  time  he  requested  to  be  put  to  bed. 
And  this  leads  us  to  the  description  of  another  portion  of  the 
cave  to  which  we  have  not  yet  referred.  At  the  upper  end 
of  the  stalactite  apartment,  which  we  have  already  described, 
there  was  a  large  projection  of  rock,  which  nearly  divided  it 
from  the  other,  and  which  discharged  the  office  of  a  wall,  or 
partition,  between  the  two  apartments.  Here  there  was  a 
good  fire  kept,  but  only  during  the  hours  of  night,  inasmuch 
as  the  smoke  which  issued  from  a  rent  or  deft  in  the  top  of 
this  apartment  would  have  discovered  them  by  day.  Through 
this  slight  chasm,  which  was  strictly  concealed,  they  received 
provisions,  water,  and  fuel.  In  fact,  it  would  seem  as  if  the 
whole  cave  had  been  expressly  designed  for  the  purpose  to 
which  it  was  then  applied,  or,  at  least,  for  some  one  of  a 
similar  nature. 

On  entering  this,  Reilly  found  a  good  fire,  on  which  was 
placed  a  large  pot  with  a  mess  in  it,  which  emitted  a  very 
savory  odor.  Around  the  sides,  or  walls  of  this  rock,  were 
at  least  a  score  of  heather  shake-down  beds,  the  fragrance  of 
which  was  delicious.  Pots,  pans,  and  other  simple  culinary 
articles  were  there,  with  a  tolerable  stock  of  provisions,  not 
omitting  a  good-sized  keg  of  mountain  dew,  which  their  se- 
cluded position,  the  dampness  of  the  place,  and  their  absence 
from  free  air,  rendered  very  necessary  and  gratifying. 

"  Here  ! "  exclaimed  Father  Maguire,  after  the  feeble 
prelate  had  been  assisted  to  this  recess,  "  here,  now,  put  his 
lordship  to  bed  ;  I  have  tossed  it  up  for  him  in  great  style  ! 
I  assure  you,  my  dear  friends,  it's  a  shake-down  fit  for  a 
prince  ! — and  better  than  most  of  the  thieves  deserve.  What 
bed  of  down  ever  had  the  sweet  fragrance  this  flowery  heather 
sends  forth .''  Here,  my  lord — easy,  now — lay  him  down 
gently,  just  as  a  mother  would  her  sleeping  child — for,  in- 
deed, he  is  a  child,"  he  whispered,  "  and  as  weak  as  a  child  ; 
but  a  sound  sleep  will  do  him  good,  and  he'll  be  a  new  man 
in  the  morning,  please  God." 

Upon  this  rough,  but  wholesome  and  aromatic  couch,  the 
exhausted  prelate  was  placed,  where  he  had  not  been  many 
minutes  until  he  fell  into  a  profound  sleep,  a  fact  which 
gratified  them  very  much,  for  they  assured  Reilly  and  the 


WILLY  REJLLY.  157 

priest  (hit  he  had  slept  but  a  few  hours  eacn  nighi  during 
the  hist  week,  and  that  such  slumber  as  he  did  get  was  fever- 
ish and  unquiet. 

Our  good-humored  friend,  however,  was  now  cordially 
welcomed  by  these  unfortunate  ecclesiastics,  for  such,  in  fact, 
the  majority  of  them  were.  His  presence  seemed  to  them 
like  a  rav  of  light  from  the  sun.  His  good  humor,  his  ex- 
cellent spirits,  which  nothing  could  repress,  and  his  drollery 
kept  them  alive,  and  nothing  was  so  much  regretted  by  them 
as  his  temporary  absences  from  time  to  time  ;  for,  in  truth, 
he  was  their  messenger,  their  steward,  and  their  newsman — 
in  fact,  the  only  link  that  connected  them  with  external  life, 
and  the  ongoings  of  the  world  abroad.  The  bed  in  which 
the  bishop  now  slept  was  in  a  distant  corner  of  this  inner 
apartment,  or  dormitory,  as  it  might  be  termed,  because  the 
situation  was  higher  and  dryer,  and  consequently  more 
healthy,  as  a  sleeping-place,  than  any  other  which  the  rude 
apartment  afforded.  The  fire  on  which  the  large  pot  sim- 
mered was  at  least  a  distance  of  twenty-five  yards  from  his 
bed,  so  that  they  could  indulge  in  conversation  without  much 
risk  of  disturbing  him. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  say  that  Reilly  and  his  friend  Father 
Maguire  felt,  by  this  time,  a  tolerably  strong  relish  for  some- 
thing in  the  shape  of  sustenance — a  relish  which  was  exceed- 
ingly sharpened  by  the  savory  smell  sent  forth  throughout  the 
apartment  by  the  contents  of  whatsoever  was  contained  in 
the  imiuense  pot. 

"  My  dear  brethren,"  said  the  priest,  "  let  us  consider  this 
cavern  as  a  rich  monastery  ;  such,  alas  !  as  existed  in  the 
good  days  of  old,  when  the  larder  and  refectory  were  a  credit 
to  religion  and  a  relief  to  the  destitute,  but  which,  alas  ! — and 
alas!  again — we  can  only  think  of  as  a — in  the  mean  time,  I 
can  stand  this  no  longer.  If  I  possess  judgment  or  penetra- 
tion in  re  cuUnaria,  I  am  of  opinion,"  he  added  (stirring  up 
the  contents  of  it),  "  that  it  is  fit  to  be  operated  on  ;  so,  in 
God's  name,  let  us  have  at  it." 

In  a  few  minutes  two  or  three  immense  pewter  dishes 
were  heaped  with  a  stew  made  up  of  mutton,  bacon,  hung 
beef,  onions,  and  potatoes,  forming  indeed  a  most  delicious 
mess  for  any  man,  much  less  the  miserable  men  who  were 
making  it  disappear  so  rapidly. 

Reilly,  the  very  picture  of  health,  after  maintaining  a  pace 
inferior  to  that  of  none,  although  there  were  decidedly  some 
handy  workmen  there,  now  was  forced  to  pull  up  and  halt. 


,  (;8  (V/r.  L  Y  RETLL  Y. 

In  tht  mean  inie  some  slow  but  steady  operations  went  on 
with  a  perseverance  that  was  highly  creditable  ;  and  it  was 
now  that,  having  a  little  agreeable  leisure  to  observe  and 
look  about  him,  he  began  to  examine  the  extraordinary  cos- 
tumes of  the  incongruous  society  in  which,  to  his  astonish- 
ment, he  found  himself  a  party.  We  must,  however,  first 
account  for  the  oddness  and  incongruity  of  the  apparent 
characters  which  they  were  forced  to  assume. 

At  this  period  the  Catholics  of  Ireland  were  indeed  fright- 
fully oppressed.  A  proclamation  had  recently  been  issued 
by  the  government,  who  dreaded,  or  pretended  to  dread,  an 
insurrection — by  which  document  convents  and  monasteries 
were  suppressed — rewards  offered  for  the  detection  and  ap- 
prehension of  ecclesiastics,  and  for  the  punishment  of  such 
humane  magistrates  as  were  reluctant  to  enforce  laws  so 
unsparing  and  oppressive.  Increased  rewards  were  also 
offered  to  spies  and  informers,  with  whom  the  country  unfor- 
tunately abounded.  A  general  disarming  of  all  Catholics 
took  place  ;  domiciliary  visits  were  made  in  quest  of  bishops, 
priests,  and  friars,  and  all  the  chapels  in  the  country  were 
shut  up.  Many  of  the  clergy  flew  to  the  metropolis,  where 
they  imagined  they  might  be  more  safe,  and  a  vast  number 
to  caverns  and  mountains,  in  order  to  avoid  the  common 
danger,  and  especially  from  a  wholesome  terror  of  that  class 
of  men  called  priest-hunters.  The  Catholic  peasantry  hav- 
ing discovered  their  clergy  in  these  wild  retreats,  flocked  to 
them  on  Sundays  and  festivals,  in  order  to  join  in  private — • 
not  public — worship,  and  to  partake  of  the  rites  and  sacra- 
ments of  their  Church. 

Such  was  the  state  of  the  country  at  the  period  when  the 
unfortunate  men  whom  we  are  about  to  describe  were  pent 
up  in  this  newly-discovered  cavern. 

Now,  Reilly  himself  was  perfectly  acquainted  with  all 
this,  and  knew  very  well  that  these  unhappy  men,  having 
been  frequently  compelled  to  put  on  the  first  disguise  that 
came  to  hand,  had  not  means,  nor  indeed  disposition,  to 
change  these  disguises,  unless  at  the  risk  of  being  recog- 
nized, taken  into  custody,  and  surrendered  to  the  mercy  of 
the  law. 

When  their  savory  meal  was  concluded,  Father  Maguire, 
who  never  forgot  any  duty  connected  with  his  position — be 
that  where  it  might — now  went  over  to  the  large  pot,  ex- 
claiming : 

"  It  would  be  too  bad,  my  friends,  to  forget  the   creatures 


WILL  y  RE  ILL  Y.  1 59 

here  that  have  been  so  faithful  and  so  steady  to  us.  Poor 
things.  1  could  see,  by  the  way  they  fixed  their  longing  eyes 
upon  us  while  we  were  doing  the  handy-work  at  the  stew, 
that  if  the  matter  had  been  left  to  themselves,  not  a  spoon- 
ful ever  went  into  our  mouths  but  they'd  have  practised  the  * 
doctrine  of  tithe  upon.  Come,  darlings — here,  now,  is  a  lit- 
tle race  for  you — every  one  of  you  seize  a  spoon,  keep  a 
hospitable  mouth,  and  a  supple  wrist.  These  creatures, 
Mr.  Reilly,  are  so  many  little  brands  plucked  out  of  the 
burning.  They  are  the  children  of  parents  who  suffered  for 
their  faith,  and  were  brought  here  to  avoid  being  put  into 
these  new  traps  for  young  Catholics,  called  Charter  Schools, 
into  which  the  government  wishes  to  hook  in  our  rising 
generation,  under  pretence  of  supporting  and  educating 
them  ;  but,  in  point  of  fact,  to  alienate  them  from  the  affec- 
tion of  their  parents  and  relations,  and  to  train  them  up  in 
tlie  State  religion,  poor  things.  At  all  events,  they  are  very 
Jiandy  to  us  here,  for  they  slip  out  by  turns  and  bring  us 
almost  everything  we  want — and  not  one  of  them  ever 
opened  his  lips  as  to  the  existence  of  this  spclunca!^ 

The  meal  of  the  poor  things  was  abundant,  but  they  soon 
gave  over,  and  in  a  few  minutes  they  tumbled  themselves 
into  their  heather  beds,  and  were  soon  sunk  in  their  innocent 
slumbers. 

"  Now,  gentlemen,  that  we  have  eaten  a  better  meal  than 
we  could  expect  in  this  miserabl  place,  thanks  to  the  kind- 
ness of  our  faithful  flocks,  what  do  you  think  of  a  sup  of 
what's  in  the  keg?  Good  eating  deserves  a  drop  of  mixture 
after  it,  to  aid  in  carrying  on  the  process  of  digestion  ! 
Father  Hennessy,  what  are  you  at  ?  "  he  exclaimed,  address- 
ing an  exceedingly  ill-looking  man,  with  heavy  brows  and  a 
sinister  aspect.  "You  forget,  sir,  that  the  management  of 
the  keg  is  my  duty,  whenever  I  am  here.  You  are  the  only 
person  here  who  violates  our  regulations  in  that  respect. 
W-alk  back  and  wait  till  you  are  helped  like  another.  Do 
you  call  that  being  spiritually  inclined  }  If  so.  there  is  not 
a  doubt  of  it  but  you  ought  to  be  a  bishop  ;  and  if  you  come 
to  that,  I'll  stake  my  credit  on  it  that  you'll  never  let  much 
wind  into  your  stomach  so  long  as  you  can  get  plenty  of  the 
solids  and  fluids  to  keep  it  out." 

"  I'm  weak  in  the  stomach,"  replied  Hennessy,  with  a 
sensual  grin,  "and  require  it." 

"  But  I  say, '  replied  Father  Maguire,  "  that  it  would 
require  stronger  proof  than   any  your  outward  man  presents 


,6o  WILLY  REILLY. 

to  confirm  the  truth  of  that.  As  for  bearing  a  load  either  of 
the  liquids  or  solids  aforesaid,  I'll  back  your  bit  of  abdomen 
there  against  those  of  any  three  of  us." 

Cups  and  noggins,  and  an  indescribable  variety  of  small 
vessels  that  were  never  designed  for  drinking,  were  now 
called  into  requisition,  and  a  moderate  portion  of  the  keg 
was  distributed  among  them.  Reilly,  while  enjoying  his 
cup,  which  as  well  as  the  others  he  did  with  a  good  deal  of 
satisfaction,  could  not  help  being  amused  by  the  comical 
peculiarity  of  their  disguises. 

The  sinister-looking  clergyman,  whom  we  have  named 
Hennessy,  subsequently  became  a  spy  and  informer,  and, 
we  may  add,  an  enemy  equally  formidable  and  treacherous 
to  the  Catholics  of  the  time,  in  consequence  of  having  been 
deprived  of  his  clerical  functions  by  his  bishop,  who  could 
not  overlook  his  immoral  and  irregular  conduct.  He  is 
mentioned  by  Matthew  O'Conner,  in  his  "  History  of  the 
Irish  Catholics,"  and  consigned  to  infamy  as  one  of  the 
greatest  scourges,  against  both  the  priesthood  and  the  peo- 
ple, that  ever  disgraced  the  country.  But  it  must  be  admitted 
that  he  stands  out  in  dark  relief  against  the  great  body  of 
the  Catholic  priests  at  that  period,  whose  firmness,  patience, 
and  fidelity  to  their  trust,  places  them  above  all  praise  and 
all  suspicion.  It  is,  however,  very  reasonable,  that  men  so 
hunted  and  persecuted  should  be  forced,  not  only  in  defence 
of  their  own  lives  and  liberties,  but  also  for  the  sake  of  their 
flocks,  to  assume  such  costumes  as  might  most  effectually 
disguise  them,  so  as  that  they  would  be  able  still,  even  in 
secret  and  by  stealth,  to  administer  the  rites  of  their  religion 
to  the  poor  and  neglected  of  their  own  creed.  Some  were 
dressed  in  common  frieze,  some  in  servants'  cast-off  liveries 
— however  they  came  by  them — and  not  a  few  in  military 
uniform,  that  served,  as  it  were,  to  mark  them  staunch  sup- 
porters of  the  very  government  that  persecuted  them.  A 
reverend  archdeacon,  somewhat  comely  and  corpulent,  had, 
by  some  means  or  other,  procured  the  garb  of  a  recruiting 
sergeant,  which  fitted  him  so  admirably  that  the  illusion  was 
complete ;  and,  what  bore  it  out  still  more  forcibly,  was  the 
presence  of  a  smart-looking  little  friar,  who  kept  the  sergeant 
in  countenance  in  the  uniform  of  a  drummer.  Mass  was 
celebrated  every  day,  hymns  were  sung,  and  prayers  offered 
up  to  the  Almighty,  that  it  might  please  him  to  check  the 
flood  of  persecution  which  had  overwhelmed  or  scattered 
them.     Still,   in  the  intervals  of  devotion,  they  indulged  Id 


WILLY  KEILLY.  i6l 

that  reasonable  cheerfulness  and  harmless  mirth  which  were 
necessary  to  support  their  spirits,  depressed  as  they  must  have 
been  by  this  dreadful  and  melancholy  confinement — a  confine- 
ment where  neither  the  light  of  the  blessed  sun,  nor  the  fresh 
breezes  of  heaven,  nor  the  air  we  breathe,  in  its  usual  purity, 
could  reach  them.  Sir  Thomas  More  and  Sir  Walter  Raleigh, 
however,  were  cheerful  on  the  scaffold  ;  and  even  here,  as  we 
have  already  said,  many  a  rustic  tale  and  legend,  peculiar  to 
those  times,  went  pleasantly  around ;  many  a  theological 
debate  took  place,  and  many  a  thesis  was  discussed,  in  order 
to  enable  the  unhappy  men  to  pass  away  the  tedious  monotony 
of  their  imprisonment  in  this  strange  lurking-place.  The 
only  man  who  kept  aloof  and  took  no  part  in  these  amusing 
recreations  was  Hennessy,  who  seemed  moody  and  sullen, 
but  who,  nevertheless,  was  frequently  detected  in  making 
stolen  visits  to  the  barrel. 

Notwithstanding  all  this,  however,  the  sight  was  a  melan- 
choly one  ;  and  whatever  disposition  Reilly  felt  to  smile  at 
what  he  saw  and  heard  was  instantly  changed  on  perceiving 
their  unaffected  piety,  which  was  evident  by  their  manner, 
and  a  rude  altar  in  a  remote  end  of  the  cave,  which  was  laid 
out  night  and  day  for  the  purpose  of  celebrating  the  ceremo- 
nies and  mysteries  of  their  Church.  Before  he  went  to  his 
couch  of  heather,  however,  he  called  Father  Maguire  aside, 
and  thus  addressed  him  : 

"  I  have  been  a  good  deal  struck  to-night,  my  friend,  by 
all  that  I  have  witnessed  in  this  singular  retreat.  The  poor 
prelate  I  pity  ;  and  I  regret  I  did  not  understand  him  sooner. 
His  mind,  I  fear,  is  gone." 

"  Why,  I  didn't  understand  him  myself,"  replied  the 
priest;  "because  this  was  the  first  symptom  he  has  shown 
of  any  derangement  in  his  intellect,  otherwise  I  would  no 
more  have  contradicted  him  than  I  would  have  cut  my  left 
hand  off." 

"There  is,  however,  a  man — a  clergyman  here,  called 
Hennessy ;  who  is  he,  and  what  has  been  his  life  ? " 

"  Why,"  replied  the  other,  "  I  have  heard  nothing  to  his 
disadvantage.  He  is  quiet,  and,  it  is  said,  a  pious  man — 
and  I  think  he  is  too.  He  is  naturally  silent,  and  seldom 
takes  any  part  in  our  conversation.  He  says,  however,  that 
his  concealment  here  bears  hard  upon  him,  and  is  depressing 
his  spirits  every  day  more  and  more.  The  only  thing  I  ever 
could  observe  in  him  is  what  you  saw  yourself  to-night — a 
slight  relish  for  an  acquaintance  with  the  barrel.     He  some- 


l62  WILLY  REILLY. 

times  drains  a  drop — indeed,  sometimes  too  much — out  of  it, 
when  he  gets  our  backs  turned  ;  but  then  he  pleads  low 
spirits  three  or  four  times  a  day — indeed,  so  often  that, 
upon  my  word,  he'll 'soo'^  have  the  barrel  pleading  the  same 
complaint." 

"Well,"  replied  Reilly,  after  listening  attentively  to  him, 
"I  desire  you  and  your  friends  to  watch  that  man  closely. 
I  know  something  about  him  ;  and  I  tell  you  that  if  ever  the 
laws  become  more  lenient,  the  moment  this  man  makes  his 
appearance,  his  bishop  will  deprive  him  of  all  spiritual  jur  s- 
diction  for  life.  Mark  me  now,  Father  Maguire ;  if  he 
pleads  any  necessity  for  leaving  this  retreat  and  going  abroad 
again  into  the  world,  don't  let  a  single  individual  of  you 
remain  here  one  hour  after  him.  Provide  for  your  safety 
and  your  shelter  elsewhere  as  well  as  you  can  ;  if  not,  the 
worst  consequences  may — nay,  will  follow." 

The  priest  promised  lo  communicate  this  intelligence  to 
his  companions,  one  by  one ;  after  which,  both  he  and 
Reilly,  feeling  fatigued  and  exhausted  by  what  they  had 
undergone  in  the  course  of  the  night,  threw  themselves  each 
upon  his  couch  of  heather,  and  in  a  few  minutes  not  only 
they,  but  all  their  companions,  were  sunk  in  deep  sleep. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE  squire's   dinner  AND  HIS  GUESTS. 

We  now  return  to  Cooleen  Bawn,  v/ho,  after  her  separation 
from  Reilly,  retired  to  her  own  room,  where  she  indulged  in 
a  paroxysm  of  deep  grief,  in  consequence  of  her  apprehen- 
sion that  she  might  never  see  him  again.  She  also  calculated 
upon  the  certainty  of  being  obliged  to  sustain  a  domestic 
warfare  with  her  father,  as  the  result  of  having  made  him  the 
confidant  of  her  love.  In  this,  however,  she  was  agreeably 
disappointed ;  for,  on  meeting  him  the  next  morning,  at 
breakfast,  she  was  a  good  deal  surprised  to  observe  that  he 
made  no  allusion  whatsoever  to  the  circumstance — if,  indeed, 
an  occasional  muttering  of  some  unintelligible  words,  sotto 
voce,  might  not  be  supposed  to  allude  to  it.  The  truth  was, 
the  old  man  found  the  promise  he  had  made  to  Sir  Robert 
one  of  such  difficulty  to  his  testy  and  violent  disposition,  that 


WILL  Y  RE  ILL  K  1 63 

his  language,  and  the  restraint  wliich  lie  felt  himself  under 
the  necessity  of  putting  on  it,  rendered  his  conversation  ratlier 
ludicrous. 

"Well,  Helen,"  he  said,  on  entering  the  breakfast-parlor, 
''how  di'l  you  rest  last  night,  my  love  ?  Rested  sound — eh? 
But  you  look  rather  pale,  darling.     (Hang  the  rascal  !)" 

"I  cannot  say  that  I  slept  as  well  as  u^ual,  sir.  I  felt 
headache." 

*' Ay,  headache — was  it  ?  (heartache,  rather.  The  villain.) 
Well,  come,  let  me  have  a  cup  of  tea  and  a  mouthful  of  that 
toast." 

"Will  you  not  have  some  chicken,  sir.-"' 

"  No,  my  dear — no  ;  just  what  I  said — a  mouthful  of 
toast,  and  a  cup  of  tea,  with  plenty  of  cream  in  it.  Thank 
you,  love.  (A  good  swing  for  him  will  be  delightful.  I'll 
go  to  see  it.)  Helen,  my  dear,  I'm  going  to  give  a  dinner- 
party next  week.  Of  course  we'll  have  your  future — hem — 
1  mean  we'll  have  Sir  Robert,  and — let  me  see — who  else  .-* 
Why,  Oxle}^,  the  sheriff,  Mr.  Brown,  the  parson — I  wish  he 
didn't  lean  so  much  to  the  cursed  Papists,  though — Mr. 
Hastings,  who  is  tarred  with  the  same  stick,  it  is  whispered. 
Well,  who  next  ?  Lord  Deilmacare,  a  good-natured  jackass 
— a  fellow  who  would  eat  a  jacketful  of  carrion,  if  placed 
before  him,  with  as  much  goni  as  if  it  were  venison.  He 
went  home  one  night,  out  of  this,  with  the  parson's  outside 
coat  and  shovel  hat  upon  him,  and  did  not  return  them  for 
two  days." 

"  Does  this  habit  proceed  from  stupidity,  papa.?" 

"  Not  at  all ;  but  from  mere  carelessness.  I'iie  next  two 
days  he  was  out  with  his  laborers,  and  if  a  cow  or  pig  chanced 
— (the  villain  I  we'll  hang  him  to  a  certainty) — clianced,  I 
say,  to  stray  into  the  field,  he  would  shy  the  shovel  hat  al 
them,  without  remorse.  Oh  !  we  must  have  him,  by  all 
means.  But  who  next  ?  Sir  Jenkins  Joram.  Give  him  plenty 
to  drink,  and  he  is  satisfied." 

'■  But  what  are  his  political  principles,  papa  ?  " 

"  They  are  to  be  found  in  the  bottle,  Helen,  which  is  the 
only  creed,  political  or  religious,  to  which  I  ever  knew  him  to 
be  attached  ;  and  I  tell  you,  girl,  that  if  every  Protestant  in 
Ireland  were  as  deeply  devoted  to  his  Church  as  he  is  to  the 
bottle,  we  would  soon  be  a  happy  people,  uncorrupted  by 
treacherous  scoundrels,  who  privately  harbor  Papists  and 
foster  Popery  itself.      (The  infernal  scoundrel.)" 

"  But,  papa,"  replied  his  daughter,  with  a  melancholy  smile. 


1 64  WILLY  REILLY. 

"  I  think  I  know  some  persons,  who,  although  very  loud  and 
vehement  in  their  outcry  against  Popery,  have,  nevertheless, 
on  more  than  one  or  two  occasions,  harbored  Papists  in  their 
house,  and  concealed  even  priests,  when  the  minions  of  the 
law  were  in  search  of  them." 

"  Yes,  and  it  is  of  this  cursed  crew  of  hollow  Protestants 
that  I  now  speak — ahem — ay — ha — well,  what  the  devil — 
hem.  To  be  sure  I — I — I — but  it  doesn't  signify  ;  we  can't 
be  wise  at  all  times.  But  after  all,  Helen  (she  has  me  there), 
after  all,  I  say,  there  are  some  good  Papists,  and  some  good 
— ahem — priests,  too.  There  now,  I've  got  it  out.  How- 
ever, Helen,  those  foolish  days  are  gone,  and  we  have  noth- 
ing for  it  now  but  to  hunt  Popery  out  of  the  country.  But  to 
proceed  as  to  the  dinner." 

"  I  think  Popery  is  suffering  enough,  sir,  and  more  than 
enough." 

"  Ho,  ho,"  he  exclaimed  with  triumph,  "  here  comes  the 
next  on  my  list — a  fine  fellow,  who  will  touch  it  up  still  more 
vigorously — I  mean  Captain  Smellpriest." 

"  I  have  heard  of  that  inhuman  man,"  replied  Helen  ; 
"  I  wish  you  would  not  ask  him,  papa.  I  am  told  he  equals 
Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  in  both  cowardice  and  cruelty.  Is  not 
that  a  nickname  he  has  got  in  consequence  of  his  activity  in 
pursuit  of  the  unfortunate  priests  ?" 

"  It's  a  nickname  he  has  given  himself,"  replied  her 
father  ;  "and  he  has  become  so  proud  of  it  that  he  will  allow 
himself  to  be  called  by  no  other.  He  swears  that  if  a  priest 
gets  on  the  windy  side  of  him,  he  will  scent  him  as  a  hound 
would  a  fox.  Oh  !  by  my  honor,  Smellpriest  must  be  here. 
The  scoundrel  like  Whitecraft! — eh — what  am  I  saying.-' 
Smellpriest,  I  say,  first  began  his  career  as  a  friend  to  the 
Papists  ;  he  took  large  tracts  of  land  in  their  name,  and  even 
purchased  a  couple  of  estates  with  their  money  ;  and  in  due 
time,  according  as  the  tide  continued  to  get  strong  against 
them,  he  thought  the  best  plan  to  cover  his  villany — ahem — 
his  policy,  I  mean — was  to  come  out  as  a  fierce  loyalist  ;  and 
as  a  mark  of  his  repentance,  he  claimed  the  property,  as  the 
real  purchaser,  and  arrested  those  who  were  fools  enough  to 
trust  him." 

"  I  think  I  know  another  gentleman  of  my  acquaintance 
who  holds  property  in  some  similar  trust  for  Papists,"  ob- 
served Helen,  "  but  who  certainly  is  incapable  of  imitating 
the  villany  of  that  most  unprincipled  man." 

"  Come,  come,  Helen  ;  come,  my  girl ;  tut — ahem  ;  come, 


WILLY  REILLY. 


X65 


you  are  getting  into  politics  now,  and  that  will  never  do.  A 
girl  like  you  ought  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  politics  or  re- 
ligion." 

"  Religion  !  papa." 

"  Oh — hem — I  don't  mean  exactly  that.  Oh,  no  ;  I  ex- 
cept religion  ;  a  girl  may  be  as  religious  as  she  pleases,  only 
she  must  say  as  little  upon  the  subject  as  possible.  Come, 
another  cup  of  tea,  with  a  little  more  sugar,  for,  I  give  you 
my  honor,  you  did  not  make  the  last  one  of  the  sweetest ; " 
and  so  saying,  he  put  over  his  cnp  with  a  grimace,  which  re- 
sembled that  of  a  man  detected  in  a  bad  action,  instead  of  a 
good  one. 

At  this  moment  John,  the  butler,  came  in  with  a  plate  of 
hot  toast ;  and,  as  he  was  a  privileged  old  man,  he  addressed 
his  master  without  much  hesitation. 

"  That  was  a  quare  business,"  he  observed,  using  the  word 
qieare  as  an  equivocal  one,  until  he  should  see  what  views  of 
the  circumstance  his  master  might  take  ;  "  a  quare  business, 
sir,  that  happened  to  Mr.  Reilly." 

"  What  business  do  you  allude  to,  you  old  sinner  ?  " 

"  The  burning  of  his  house  and  place,  sir.  All  he  has,  or 
had,  is  in  a  heap  01  ashes." 

Helen  felt  not  for  the  burning,  but  her  eyes  were  fixed 
upon  the  features  of  the  old  man,  as  if  the  doom  of  her  life 
depended  on  his  words  ;  whilst  the  paper  on  which  we  write 
i)>  not  whiter  than  were  her  cheeks. 

"What — what — how  was  \0.''  asked  his  master;  "who 
did  it  ? — and  by  whose  authority  was  it  done  ?  " 

"  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  and  his  men  did  it,  sir." 

"Ay,  but  I  can't  conceive  he  had  any  authority  for  such 
an  act." 

"  Wasn't  Mr.  Reilly  an  outlaw,  sir  >.  Didn't  the  Red  Rap- 
paree,  who  is  now  a  good  Protestant,  swear  insurrection 
against  him  ?'' 

"The  red  devil,  sirra,"  replied  the  old  squire,  forgetting 
his  animosity  to  Reilly  in  the  atrocity  and  oppression  of  the 
deed — "  the  red  devil,  sirra  !  would  that  justify  such  a  cow- 
ardly scoundrel  as  sir  Rob — eh  ? — ugh — ugh — ugh — that  went 
against  my  breath,  Helen.  Well,  come  here,  I  say,  you  old 
sinner  ;  they  burned  the  place,  you  say  t  " 

"  Sir  Robert  and  his  men  did,  sir." 

"  I'm  not  doubting  that,  you  old  houseleek.  I  know  Sir 
Robert  too  well— I  know  the  infernal — ahem  ;  a  most  excel- 
lent loyal  gentleman,  with  two  or  three  fine  estates,  both  here 


,  66  WILL  Y  RE  ILL  Y. 

and  in  England  ;  but  he  prefers  living  here,  for  reasons  best 
known  to  himself  and  me,  and — and  to  somebody  else.  Well, 
they  burned  Reilly  out — but  tell  me  this ;  did  they  catch  the 
rascal  himself  ?  eh  ?  here's  five  pounds  for  you,  if  you  can 
say  they  have  him  safe." 

"  That's  rather  a  loose  bargain,  your  honor,"  replied  the 
man  with  a  smile  ;  "  for  saying  it  ? — why,  what's  to  prevent 
me  from  saying  it,  if  I  wished?" 

"  None  of  your  mumping,  you  old  snapdragon  ;  but  tell 
me  the  truth,  have  they  secured  him  hard  and  fast  ?" 

"  No,  sir,  he  escaped  them,  and  as  report  goes  they  know 
nothing  about  him,  except  that  they  haven't  got  him." 

Deep  and  speechless  was  the  agony  in  which  Helen  sat 
during  this  short  dialogue,  her  eyes  having  never  once  been 
withdrawn  from  the  butler's  countenance  ;  but  now  that  she 
had  heard  of  her  lover's  personal  safety,  a  thick,  smothered 
sob,  which,  if  it  were  to  kill  her,  she  could  not  repress,  burst 
from  her  bosom.  Unwilling  that  either  her  father  or  the  ser- 
vant should  witness  the  ecstasy  which  she  could  not  conceal, 
and  feeling  that  another  minute  would  disclose  the  delight 
which  convulsed  her  heart  and  frame,  she  arose,  and,  with  as 
much  composure  as  she  could  assume,  went  slowly  out  of  the 
room.  On  entering  her  apartment,  she  signed  to  her  maid 
to  withdraw,  after  which  she  closed  and  bolted  the  door,  and 
wept  bitterly.  The  poor  girl's  emotion,  in  fact,  was  of  a  two- 
fold character  ;  she  wept  with  joy  at  Reilly's  escape  from  the 
hands  of  his  cruel  and  relentless  enemy,  and  with  bitter  grief 
at  the  impossibility  which  she  thought  there  existed  that  he 
should  ultimately  be  able  to  keep  out  of  the  meshes  which 
she  knew  Whitecraft  would  spread  for  him.  The  tears,  how- 
ever, which  she  shed  abundantly,  in  due  time  relieved  her, 
and  in  the  course  of  an  hour  or  two  she  was  able  to  appear  as 
usual  in  the  family. 

The  reader  may  perceive  that  her  father,  though  of  an 
abrupt  and  cynical  temper,  was  not  a  man  naturally  of  a 
bad  or  unfeeling  heart.  Whatever  mood  of  temper  chanced 
to  be  uppermost  influenced  him  for  the  time  ;  and  indeed  it 
might  be  said  that  one-half  of  his  feelings  were  usually  in  a 
state  of  conflict  with  the  other.  In  matters  of  business  he 
was  the  very  soul  of  integrity  and  honor,  but  in  his  views  of 
public  affairs  he  was  uncertain  and  inconsistent ;  and,  of 
course,  his  whole  life,  as  a  magistrate  and  public  man,  was 
a  perpetual  series  of  contradictions.  The  consequence  of 
all  this  was,  that  he  possessed  but  small  influence,  as   arising 


WILLY  RE  ILLY. 


1C7 


from  his  personal  character ;  but  not  so  from  his  immense 
property,  as  well  as  from  the  fact  that  he  was  father  to  the 
wealthiest  and  most  beautiful  heiress  in  the  province,  or 
perhaps,  so  far  as  beauty  was  concerned,  in  the  kingdom 
itself. 

At  length  the  day  mentioned  for  the  dinner  arrived,  and, 
at  the  appointed  hour,  so  also  did  the  guests.  There  were 
some  ladies  asked  to  keep  Helen  in  countenance,  but  we 
need  scarcely  say,  that  as  the  list  of  them  was  made  out  by 
her  thoughtless  father,  he  paid,  in  the  selection  of  some  of 
them,  very  little  attention  to  her  feelings.  There  was  the 
sheriff,  Mr.  Oxley,  and  his  lady — the  latter  a  compound  in 
whom  it  was  ditificult  to  determine  whether  pride,  vulgarity, 
or  obesity  prevailed.  Where  the  sheriff  had  made  his  cap- 
ture of  her  was  never  properly  known,  as  neither  of  them 
belonged  originally  to  that  neighborhood  in  which  he  had, 
several  years  ago,  purchased  large  property.  It  was  said  he 
had  got  her  in  London  ;  and  nothing  was  more  certain  than 
that  she  issued  forth  the  English  language  clothed  in  an  in- 
veterate cockney  accent.  She  was  a  high  moralist,  and  a 
merciless  castigator  of  all  females  who  manifested,  or  who 
were  supposed  to  manifest,  even  a  tendency  to  walk  out  of 
the  line  of  her  own  peculiar  theory  on  female  conduct.  Her 
weight  might  be  about  eighteen  stone,  exclusive  of-  an  addi- 
tional stone  of  gold  chains  and  bracelets,  in  which  she  moved 
like  a  walking  gibbet,  only  with  the  felon  in  it  ;  and  to 
crown  all,  she  wore  upon  her  mountainous  bosom  a  cameo 
nearly  the  size  of  a  frying-pan.  Sir  Jenkins  Joram,  who 
took  her  down  to  dinner,  declared,  on  feeling  the  size  of  the 
bracelets  which  encircled  her  wrists,  that  he  labored  for  a 
short  time  under  the  impression  that  he  and  she  were  liter- 
ally handcuffed  together;  an  impression,  he  added,  from 
vviiich  he  was  soon  relieved  by  the  consoling  reflection  that 
it  was  the  sheriff  himself  whom  the  clergyman  had  sentenced 
to  stand  in  that  pleasant  predicament.  Of  Mrs.  Brown  and 
Mrs.  Hastings  we  have  only  to  say  that  they  were  "modest, 
sensible,  unassuming  women,  without  either  parade  or  pre- 
tence, such,  in  fact,  as  you  will  generally  meet  among  our 
well-bred  and  educated  countrywomen.  Lord  Deilniacare 
was  a  widower,  without  family,  and  not  a  marrying  man. 
Indeed,  when  pressed  upon  this  subject,  he  wa:s  never  known 
to  deviate  from  the  one  reply. 

"Why  don't  you  marry  again,  my  lord.'' — will  you  ever 
marry  ? " 


l68  WILL  V  REILL  Y. 

"No,  madame,  I  got  enough  of  it,"  a  reply  which,  some- 
how, generally  checked  any  further  inquiry  on  the  subject. 
Between  Lady  Joram  and  Mrs.  Smellpriest  there  subsisted  a 
singular  analogy  with  respect  to  their  conjugal  attachments. 
It  was  hinted  that  her  ladyship,  in  those  secret  but  delicious 
moments  of  matrimonial  felicity  which  makes  up  the  sugar- 
candy  morsels  of  domestic  life,  used  to  sit  with  Sir  Jenkins 
for  the  purpose,  by  judicious  exercise,  of  easing,  by  convivial 
exercise,  a  rheumatic  affection  which  she  complained  of  in 
her  right  arm.  There  is  nothing,  however,  so  delightful  as  a 
general  and  loving  sympathy  between  husband  and  wife  ; 
and  here  it  was  said  to  exist  in  perfection.  Mrs.  Smellpriest, 
on  the  other  hand,  was  said  to  have  been  equally  attached  to 
the  political  principles  of  the  noble  captain,  and  to  wonder 
why  any  clergyman  should  be  suffered  to  live  in  the  country 
but  those  of  her  own  Church  ;  such  delightful  men,  for  in- 
stance, as  their  curate,  the  Rev.  Samson  Strong,  who  was 
nothing  more  nor  less  than  a  divine  bonfire  in  the  eyes  of 
the  Christian  world.  Such  was  his  zeal  against  Papists,  she 
said,  as  well  as  against  Popery  at  large,  that  she  never  looked 
on  him  without  thinking  that  there  was  a  priest  to  be  burned. 
Indeed  Captain  Smellpriest,  she  added,  was  under  great 
obligations  to  him,  for  no  sooner  had  his  reverence  heard  of 
a  priest  taking  earth  in  the  neighborhood,  than  he  lost  no 
time  in  communicating  the  fact  to  her  husband;  after  which 
he  would  kindly  sit  with  and  comfort  her  whilst  fretting  lest 
any  mischief  might  befall  her  dear  captain. 

The  dinner  passed  as  all  dinners  usually  do.  They  hob- 
nobbed, of  course,  and  indulged  in  that  kind  of  promiscuous 
conversation  which  cannot  well  be  reported.  From  a  feeling 
of  respect  to  Helen,  no  allusion  was  made  either  to  the  burn- 
ing of  Reilly's  property  or  to  Reilly  personally.  The  only 
person  who  had  any  difficulty  in  avoiding  the  subject  was  the 
old  squire  himself,  who  more  than  once  found  the  topic  upon 
his  lips,  but  with  a  kind  of  short  cough  he  gulped  it  down, 
and  got  rid  of  it  for  the  time.  In  what  manner  he  might 
treat  the  act  itself  was  a  matter  which  excited  a  good  deal  of 
speculation  in  the  minds  of  those  who  were  present.  He 
was  known  to  be  a  man  who,  if  the  whim  seized  him  to  look 
upon  it  as  a  cowardly  and  vindictive  proceeding,  would  by 
no  means  scruple  to  express  his  opinions  strongly  against  it ; 
whilst,  on  the  other  hand,  if  he  measured  it  in  connection 
with  his  daughter's  forbidden  attachment  to  Reilly,  he  would, 
of  course,  as  vehemently  express  his  approbation  of  the  out- 


WILLY  REILLY.  169 

rage.  Indeed,  they  were  induced  to  conclude  that  this  latter 
view  of  it  was  that  which  he  was  most  likely  to  take,  in  con- 
sequence of  the  following  proposal,  which,  from  any  other 
man,  would  have  been  an  extraordinary  one: 

"  Come,  ladies,  before  you  leave  us  we  must  have  one 
toast;  and  1  shall  give  it  in  order  to  ascertain  whether  we 
have  any  fair  traitresses  among  us,  or  any  who  are  secretly 
attached  to  Popery  or  Papists." 

The  proposal  was  a  cruel  one,  but  the  squire  was  so  utterly 
destitute  of  consideration  or  delicacy  of  feeling  that  we  do 
not  think  he  ever  once  reflected  upon  the  painful  position  in 
which  it  placed  his  daughter. 

"Come,"  he  proceeded,  "here  is  prosperity  to  Captain 
Smellpriest  and  priest-hunting!"* 

"As  a  Christian  minister,"  replied  Mr.  Brown,  "and  an 
enemy  to  persecution  in  every  sense,  but  especially  to  that 
which  would  punish  any  man  for  the  great  principle  which 
we  ourselves  claim — the  rights  of  conscience — I  decline  to 
drink  the  toast ;"  and  he  turned  down  his  glass, 

"  And  I,"  said  Mr.  Hastings.  "  as  a  Protestant  and  a 
Christian,  refuse  it  on  the  same  principles;"  and  he  also 
turned  down  his  glass. 

"But  you  forget,  gentlemen,"  proceeded  the  squire,  "  that 
I  addressed  myself  principally  to  the  ladies." 

"  But  you  know,  sir,"  replied  Mrs.  Brown,  with  a  smile, 
"that  it  is  quite  unusual  and  out  of  character  for  ladies  to 
drink  toasts  at  all,  especially  those  which  involve  religious  or 
political  opinions.  These,  I  am  sure,  you  know  too  well, 
Mr.  Folliard,  are  matters  with  which  ladies  have,  and  ought 
to  have,  nothing  to  do.  I  also,  therefore,  on  behalf  of  our 
sex,  decline  to  drink  the  toast;  and  I  trust  that  every  lady 
who  respects  herself  will  turn  down  her  glass  as  I  do." 

"You  see,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Brown,  good-humoredly,  "that 
the  sex — at  least  one-half  of  them — are  against  you." 

"  That's  because  they're  Papists  at  heart,"  replied  the 
squire,  laughing. 

Helen  felt  eased  at  seeing  her  father's  good  humor,  for 

*  We  have  been  charged  by  an  able  and  accomplished  writer  with  an  incapacity  (if 
describing,  with  truth,  any  state  of  Irish  society  abov«  tliat  of  our  peasantry  ;  and  t!ie 
toast  proposed  by  the  eccentric  old  squire  is,  we  presume,  the  chief  ground  upon  whicli 
this  charge  is  rested.  We  are,  however,  just  as  well  aware  as  our  critic,  that  to  propose 
toasts  before  the  female  portion  of  the  company  leave  the  dinner-table,  is  altogether  at 
variance  with  the  usages  of  polite  society.  But  we  real'y  thought  we  had  guarded  our 
readers  against  any  such  inference  of  our  ow  ■■  ignorance  by  the  character  which  we  had 
drawn  of  the  squire,  as  well  as  by  the  words  with  which  the  toast  is  introduced — where 
we  said,  •"  from  any  other  man  would  liave  been  411  extraordinary  one."  \  niay  also  rej($r 
to  Mrs,  Br  wu's  reply. 


I  -  o  WILL  Y  REILL  Y. 

she  now  knew  that  the  proposal  of  the  toast  was  but  a  jest, 
and  did  not  aim  at  anything  calculated  to  distress  her  feel- 
ings. 

"  But  in  the  mean  time  "  proceeded  the  squire,  "  I  am 
not  without  support.  Here  is  Lady  Joram  and  Mrs.  Smell- 
priest  and  Mrs.  Oxley — and  they  are  a  host  in  themselves — 
each  of  them  willing  and  ready  to  support  me." 

"  I  don't  see,"  said  Lady  Joram,  "  why  a  lady,  any  more 
than  a  gentleman,  should  refuse  to  drink  a  proper  toast  as 
this  is  ;  Sir  Jenkins  has  not  turned  down  his  glass,  and 
neither  shall  L  Come,  then,  Mr.  Folliard,  please  to  fill 
mine  ;  I  shall  drink  it  in  a  bumper." 

"  And  I,"  said  Mrs.  Oxley,  "  always  drinks  my  'usband's 
principles.  In  Lunnon,  where  true  'igh  life  is,  ladies  don't 
refuse  to  drink  toasts.  I  know  that  feyther,  both  before  and 
after  his  removal  to  Lunnon,  used  to  make  us  all  drink  the 
"Ard  ware  of  Old  Hingland' — by  which,"  she  proceeded, 
correcting  herself  by  a  reproving  glance  from  the  sheriff — 
"  by  witch  he  meant  what  he  ci^lled  the  glorious  sinews  of 
the  country  at  large,  lestwise  in  the  manufacturing  districts. 
But  upon  a  subject  like  this  " — and  she  looked  with  some- 
thing like  disdain  at  those  who  had  turned  down  their  glasses 
— every  lady  as  is  a  lady  ought  to  'ave  no  objections  to 
hexplain  her  principles  by  drinking  the  toast ;  but  p'raps  it 
ain't  fair  to  press  it  upon  some  of  'em." 

"  Well,  then,"  proceeded  the  squire,  with  a  laugh  that 
seemed  to  have  more  than  mirth  in  it,  "  are  all  the  royal 
subjects  of  the  crown  ready?  Lord  Deilmacare,  your  glass 
is  not  filled  ;  won't  you  drink  it?  " 

"To  be  sure,"  replied  his  lordship;  "  I  have  no  hatred 
against  Papists  ;  I  get  my  rent  by  their  labor  ;  but  I  never 
wish  to  spoil  sport — get  along — I'll  do  anything." 

With  the  exceptions  already  mentioned,  the  toast  was 
drank  immediately,  after  which  the  ladies  retired  to  the 
drawing-room. 

"  Now,  gentlemen,"  said  the  squire,  "  fill  your  glasses, 
and  let  us  enjoy  ourselves.  You  have  a  right  to  be  proud 
of  your  wife,  Mr.  Sheriff,  and  you  too,  Sir  Jenkins  —  for, 
upon  my  soul,  if  it  had  been  his  Majesty's  health,  her  lady- 
ship couldn't  have  honored  it  with  a  fuller  bumper.  And, 
Smellpriest,  your  wife  did  the  thing  handsomely  as  well  as 
the  rest.  Upon  my  soul,  you  ought  to  be  happy  men,  with 
three  women  so  deeply  imbued  with  the  true  spirit  of  our 
glorious  Constitution." 


WILLY  REILLY. 


J71 


"  Ah,  Mr.  Folliard,"  said  Smellpriest,  "you  don't  know 
the  value  of  that  woman.  When  I  return,  for  instance, 
after  a  hunt,  the  first  question  she  puts  to  me  is — Well,  my 
love,  how  many  priests  did  you  catch  to-day  ?  And  out 
comes  Mr.  Strong  with  the  same  question.  Strong,  how- 
ever, between  ourselves,  is  a  goose  ;  he  will  believe  any- 
thing, and  often  sends  me  upon  a  cold  trail.  Now,  I  pledge 
you  my  honor,  gentlemen,  that  this  man,  who  is  all  zeal,  has 
sent  me  out  dozens  of  times,  with  the  strictest  instructions  as 
to  where  I'd  catch  my  priest ;  but,  hang  me,  it  ever  I  caught  a 
single  priest  upon  his  instructions  yet !  still,  although  unfor- 
tunate in  this  kind  of  sport,  his  heart  is  in  the  right  place. 
Whitecraft,  my  worthy  brother  sportsman,  how  does  it  happen 
that  Reilly  continues  to  escape  you  ?" 

"  Why  does  he  continue  to  escape  yourself,  captain  ?  "  re- 
plied the  baronet. 

"  Why,"  said  the  other,  "  because  I  am  more  in  the  ec- 
clesiastical line,  and,  besides,  he  is  considered  to  be,  in  an 
especial  manner,  yow  game." 

"  I  will  have  him  yet,  though,"  said  Whitecraft,  "  if  he 
should  assume  as  many  shapes  as  Proteus." 

"  By  the  way,  Whitecraft,"  observed  Folliard,  "  they  tell 
me  you  burned  the  unfor — you  burned  the  scoundrel's  house 
and  offices." 

"  I  wish  you  had  been  present  at  the  bonfire,  sir,"  replied 
his  intended  son-in-law;  "  it  would  have  done  your  heart 
good." 

"  I  daresay,"  said  the  squire  ;  "but  still,  what  harm  did 
his  house  and  place  do  you  ?  I  know  the  fellow  is  a  Jesuit, 
a  rebel,  and  an  outlaw — at  least  you  tell  me  so  ;  and  you 
must  know.  But  upon  what  authority  did  you  burn  the 
rascal  out  ? " 

"As  to  that,"  returned  the  baronet,  "the  present  laws 
against  Popery  and  the  general  condition  of  the  times  are  a 
sufficient  justification  ;  and  I  do  not  think  that  I  am  likely  to 
be  brought  over  the  coals  for  it ;  on  the  contrary,  I  look  upon 
myself  -^z  a  man  who,  in  burning  the  villain  out,  have  rendered 
a  very  important  service  to  government." 

"  I  regret,  Sir  Robert,"  observed  Mr.  Brown,  "  that  you 
should  have  disgraced  yourself  by  such  an  oppressivv,  act. 
I  know  that  throughout  the  country  your  conduct  to  this 
young  man  is  attributed  to  personal  malice  rather  than  to 
loyalty." 

"  The  country  may  put  what  construction  on  my  condud 


jy2  WILLY  REILLY. 

it  pleases,"  he  replied,  "  but  I  know  I  shall  never  cease  till  I 
hang  him." 

Mr.  Hastings  was  a  man  of  very  few  words ;  but  he  had 
an  eye  the  expression  of  which  could  not  be  mistaken — keen, 
manly,  and  firm.  He  sat  sipping  his  wine  in  silence,  but 
turned  from  time  to  time  a  glance  upon  the  baronet,  which  was 
not  only  a  searching  one,  but  seemed  to  have  something  of 
triumph  in  it. 

"  What  do  you  say,  Hastings  ?  "  asked  Whitecraft ;  "  can 
you  not  praise  a  loyal  subject,  man?" 

"I  say  nothing,  Sir  Robert,"  he  replied;  "but  I  think 
occasionally." 

''Well,  and  what  do  you  think  occasionally  ?  " 

"  Why,  that  the  times  may  change." 

"Whitecraft,"  said  Smellpriest,  "I  work  upon  higher 
principles  than  they  say  you  do.  I  hunt  priests,  no  doubt  of 
it  ;  but  then  I  have  no  personal  malice  against  them  ;  I  pro- 
ceed upon  the  broad  and  general  principle  of  hatred  to 
Popery :  but,  at  the  same  time,  observe  that  it  is  not  the  man- 
but  the  priest  I  pursue." 

"  And  when  you  hang  or  transport  the  priest,  what  be- 
comes of  the  man  ?  "  asked  the  baronet,  with  a  diabolical 
sneer.  "  As  for  me,  Smellpriest,  I  make  no  such  distinc- 
tions ;  they  are  unworthy  of  you,  and  I'm  sorry  to  hear  you 
express  them.     I  say,  the  man." 

"  And  I  say,  the  priest,"  replied  the  other. 

"  What  do  you  say,  my  lord  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Folliard  of  the 
peer. 

"  I  don't  much  care  which,"  replied  his  lordship  \  "  man 
or  priest,  be  it  as  you  can  determine  ;  only  I  say  that  when 
you  hang  the  priest,  I  agree  with  Whitecraft  there,  that  it  is 
all  up  with  the  man,  and  when  you  hang  the  man,  it  is  all 
up  with  the  priest.  By  the  way,  Whitecraft,"  he  proceeded, 
"how  would  you  like  to  swing  yourself.''" 

"  I  am  sure,  my  lord,"  replied  the  baronet,  "  you  wouldn't 
wish  to  see  me  hanged." 

"Well  I  don't  know — perhaps  I  might,  and  perhaps  1 
might  not ;  but  I  know  you  would  make  a  long  corpse,  and 
I  think  you  would  dangle  handsomely  enough  ;  you  have 
long  limbs,  a  long  body,  and  half  a  mile  of  neck ;  upon  my 
soul,  one  would  think  you  were  made  for  it.  Yes,  I  dare  say 
I  should  like  to  see  you  hanged — I  am  rather  inclined  to 
think  I  would — it's  a  subject,  however,  on  which  I  am 
perfectly  indifferent ;  but  if  ever  you  should  be  hanged,  Sir 


JV/LL  V  RhlLL  Y.  1 73 

Robert,  I  shall  certainly  make  it  a  point  to  see  you  thrown 
off  if  it  were  only  as  a  mark  of  respect  for  your  humane  and 
excellent  character." 

"  He  would  be  a  severe  loss  to  the  country,"  observed 
Sir  Jenkins  ;  "  the  want  of  his  hospitality  would  be  deeply 
felt  by  the  gentry  of  the  neighborhood  ;  for  which  reason," 
he  observed  sarcastically,  "  I  hope  he  will  be  spared  to  us  as 
long  as  his  hospitality  lasts." 

"  In  the  mean  time,  gentleman,"  observed  the  sheriff,  *'  I 
wish  that,  with  such  keen  noses  for  priests  and  rebels  and 
criminals,  you  would  come  upon  the  trail  of  the  scoundrel 
who  robbed  me  of  three  hundred  and  fifty  pounds." 

"Would  you  know  him  again,  Mr.  Sheriff?"  asked  Sir 
Robert,  "  and  could  you  describe  his  appearance  .-'  " 

"  I  have  been  turning  the  matter  over,"  replied  the 
sheriff,  "  and  I  feel  satisfied  that  I  would  know  him  if  I  saw 
him.  He  was  dressed  in  a  broadcloth  brown  coat,  light- 
colored  breeches,  and  had  silver  buckles  in  his  shoes.  The 
fellow  was  no  common  robber.  Stuart — one  of  your  dra- 
goons, Sir  Robert,  who  came  to  my  relief  when  it  was  too 
late — insists,  from  my  description  of  the  dress,  that  it  was 
Reilly." 

"  Are  you  sure  he  was  not  dressed  in  black  ? "  asked 
Smellpriest.  "  Did  you  observe  a  beads  or  crucifix  about 
him  ?  " 

"  I  have  described  the  dress  accurately,"  replied  the 
sheriff ;  "  but  I  am  certain  that  it  was  not  Reilly.  On  bring- 
ing the  matter  to  my  recollection,  after  I  had  got  rid  of  the 
pain  and  agitation,  I  was  able  to  remember  that  the  rufiian 
had  a  coarse  face  and  red  whiskers.  Now  Reilly's  hair  and 
whiskers  are  black." 

"  It  was  a  reverend  Papist,"  said  Smellpriest ;  "  one  of 
those  from  whom  you  had  levied  the  fines  that  day,  and  who 
thought  it  no  harm  to  transfer  them  back  again  to  holy 
Church.  You  know  not  how  those  rascals  can  disguise  them- 
selves." 

"  And  can  you  blame  them,  Smellpriest,"  said  the  squire, 
"for  disguising  themselves?  Now,  suppose  the  tables  were 
turned  upon  us,  that  Popery  got  the  ascendant,  and  that  Pa- 
pists started  upon  the  same  principles  against  us  that  we  put 
in  practice  against  them  ;  suppose  that  Popish  soldiers  were 
halloed  on  against  our  parsons,  and  all  other  Protestants 
conspicuous  for  an  attachment  to  their  religion,  and  anxious 
to  put  down  the  persecution  under  which  we  suffered  ;  why_ 


,  y^  WILL  Y  RE  ILL  Y. 

hanor  it,  could  you  blame  the  parsons,  when  hunted  to  the 
death,  for  disguising  themselves  ?  And  if  you  could  not, 
how  can  you  blame  the  priests  ?  Would  you  ha%-e  the  poor 
devils  walk  mto  your  hands  and  say,  •  Come,  geatlemen.  be 
good  enough  to  hang  or  transpon  us.'  I  am  anxious  to  se- 
cure Reillv.  and  either  to  hang  or  transport  him.  I  would 
say  the  latter,  though." 
"  '•  And  I  the  former."  observed  Sir  Robert. 

"Well,  Bob,  that  is  as  may  happen  :  but  in  the  mean 
time,  I  say  he  never  robbed  the  sheriff  here  \  and  if  he  were 
going  to  the  gallows  to-morrow,  I  would  maintain  it-" 

Neither  the  clergyman  nor  Mr.  Hastings  took  much  part 
in  the  conversation  :  but  the  eye  of  the  latter  was,  during  the 
greater  portion  of  the  evening,  fixed  upon  the  baronet,  like 
that  of  a  basilisk,  accompanied  by  a  bidden  meaning,  which 
it  was  impossible  to  penetrate,  but  which,  nevertheless,  had 
such  an  effect  upon  WTiitecraft  that  he  could  not  help  ob- 
serving it 

"  It  would  seem,  Mr.  Hastings,"  said  he,  "  as  if  you  had 
never  seen  me  before.  Your  eye  has  scarcely  been  off  me 
during  the  whole  evening.  It  is  not  pleasant,  sir,  nor 
scarcely  gentlemanly." 

"  You  should  feel  proud  of  it.  Sir  Robert,"  replied  Hast- 
ings ;  I  only  admire  you," 

"  Well,  then,  I  wish  you  would  express  your  admiration  in 
some  other  manner  than  by  staring  at  me." 

"Gadzooks,  Sir  Robert,"  said  the  squire.  "don*t  you 
know  that  a  cat  may  look  at  a  king  ?  Hastings  must  be  a 
roan  of  devilish  good  taste.  Bob,  and  vou  ought  to  thank 
him." 

Mr.  Brown  and  Mr.  Hastings  soon  afterwards  went  up 
stairs,  and  left  the  other  gentlemen  to  their  liquor,  whidi 
they  now  began  to  enjoy  with  a  more  convi\ial  spirit  The 
old  squire's  loyalty  rose  to  a  very  high  pitch,  as  indeed  did 
that  of  his  companions,  all  of  whom  entenained  the  same 
principles,  with  the  exception  of  Lord  Deilmacare,  whose 
opinions  never  could  be  got  at,  for  the  very  sufficient  reason 
that  he  did  not  know  them  himself. 

"  Come.  Whitecraft,"  said  the  squire,  "  help  yourself,  and 
push  the  bottle  ;  now  that  those  two  half-Papists  are  gone, 
we  can  breathe  and  speak  a  little  more  freely.  Here's  our 
glorious  Constitution,  in  Church  and  State,  and  curse  all 
priests  and  Papists — barring  a  few,  that  I  know  to  be  honest." 

"  I  drink  it,  but  I  omit  the  exception,"  said  Sir  Robert, 


WILLY  REII.LY.  1 75 

"  and  I  wonder,  sir,  you  would  make  any  exception  to  such  a 
toast." 

"  r  drink  it,'  said  Smellpriest,  "  including  the  rascally 
priests." 

"  And  I  drink  it."  said  the  sheriff,  "  as  it  has  been  pro- 
posed," 

"What  was  it?"  said  Lord  Deilmacare  ;  "come,  I  drink 
it — it  doesn't  matter.  I  suppose,  coming  from  our  exc'  -nt 
host,  it  must  be  right  and  proper." 

They  caroused  deeply,  and  in  proportion  as  the  liquor 
affected  their  brains,  so  did  their  determination  to  rid  the 
squire  of  the  rebel  Reilly  form  itself  into  an  express  resolu* 
tion  to  that  effect. 

"  Hang  Reilly — hang  the  villain — the  gallows  for  him — 
hurra!"  and  in  this  charitable  sentiment  their  voices  all 
joined  in  a  fierce  and  drunken  exclamation,  uttered  with  their 
hands  all  clasped  in  each  other  with  a  strong  and  firm  grip. 
From  one  mouth  alone,  however,  proceeded,  amidst  a  suc- 
cession of  hiccups,  the  word  "  transportation,"  which,  when 
Lord  Deilmacare  heard,  he  changed  his  principle,  and  joined 
the  old  squire  in  the  same  mitigation  of  feeling. 

"  I  say,  Deilmacare,"  shouted  Sir  Robert,  '•  we  must  hang 
him  high  and  dry." 

''Very  well,"  replied  his  lordship,  "with  all  my  heart, 
Sir  Robert ;  we  must  hang  you  high  and  dry." 

"  But,  Deilmacare,"  said"  the  squire,  "  we  shall  only  trans- 
port him." 

"Very  good,"  exclaimed  his  lordship,  emptying  a  bumper; 
"we  shall  only  transport  you,  Sir  Robert." 
"  Hang  him,  Deilmacare  !  " 
"  Very  well,  hang  him  !  " 

"  Transport  him,  I  say,  Deilmacare,"  from  the  squire. 
"Good  again,"  said  his  lordship;  "transport  him,  say  L" 
And  on  went  the  drunken  revel,  until  they  scarcely  knew 
what  they  said. 

The  clergyman  and  Mr.  Hastings,  on  reaching  the  drawl- 
ing-room, found  Helen  in  a  state  of  inexpressible  distress. 
A  dispute  upon  the  prevailing  morals  of  all  modern  young 
ladies  had  been  got  up  by  Lady  Joram  and  Mrs.  Oxley,  for 
the  express  purpose  of  venting  their  petty  malice  against  the 
girl,  because  they  had  taken  it  into  their  heads  that  she  paid 
more  attention  to  Mrs.  Brown  and  Mrs.  Hastings  than  she 
did  to  them.  This  dispute  was  tantamount  to  what,  in  the 
prize  ring,  is  called   a  cross,  when   the  fight  is*  only  a  mock 


1^6  WILLY  REILLY. 

one,  and  terminates  by  the  voluntary  defeat  of  one  of  the 
parties,  upon  a  preconcerted  arrangement. 

"  I  don't  agree  with  you,  my  lady ;  nor  can  I  think  that 
the  morals  of  young  ladies  in  'igh  life,  by  witch  I  mean  the 
daughters  and  heiresses  of  wealthy  squires — " 

"  But,  my  dear  Mrs.  Oxley,"  said  her  ladyship,  interrupt- 
ing her,  and  placing  hor  hand  gently  upon  her  arm,  as  if  to 
solicit  her  consent  to  the  observation  she  was  about  to  make, 
"  you  know,  my  dear  Mrs.  Oxley,  that  the  daughter  of  a  mere 
country  squire  can  have  no  pretensions  to  come  under  the 
definition  of  high  life." 

"  Wy  not .''  "  replied  Mrs.  Oxley ;  "  the  squires  are  often 
wealthier  than  the  haristocracy ;  and  I  don't  at  all  see,"  she 
added,  "  wy  the  daughter  of  such  a  man  should  not  be  con- 
sidered as  moving  in  'igh  life — always,  of  course,  provided 
that  she  forms  no  disgraceful  attachments  to  Papists  and 
rebels  and  low  persons  of  that  'ere  class.  No,  my  lady,  I 
don't  at  all  agree  with  you  in  your  view  of  'igh  life." 

"  You  don't  appear,  madam,  to  entertain  a  sufficiently 
accurate  estimate  of  high  life." 

''  I  beg  pardon,  ma'am,  but  I  think  I  can  understand  'igh 
life  as  well  as  those  that  don't  know  it  better  nor  myself. 
I've  seen  a  great  deal  of  'igh  life.  Feyther  'ad  a  willar  at 
'Igate,  and  'Igate  is  known  to  be  the  'ighest  place  about  the 
metropolis  of  Lunnon — it  and  St.  Paul's  are  upon  a  bevel." 

"  Level,  perhaps,  3^ou  mean,  ma'am  ?  " 

"  Level  or  bevel,  it  doesn't  much  diversify — but  I  prefer 
the  bevel  to  the  level  on  all  occasions.  All  I  knows  is,"  she 
proceeded,  "  that  it  is  a  shame  for  any  young  lady,  as  is  a 
young  lady,  to  take  a  liking  to  a  Papist,  because  we  know  the 
Papists  are  all  rebels  and  would  cut  our  throats,  only  for  the 
protection  of  our  generous  and  merciful  laws." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean  by  merciful  laws,"  ob- 
served Mrs.  Brown.  "  They  surely  cannot  be  such  laws  as 
oppress  and  persecute  a  portion  of  the  people,  and  give  an 
unjust  license  to  one  class  to  persecute  another,  and  to  pre- 
vent them  from  exercising  the  duties  which  their  religion 
imposes  upon  them." 

"Well,"  said  Lady  Joram,  "all  I  wish  is,  that  the  Papists 
were  exterminated  ;  we  should  then  have  no  apprehensions 
that  our  daughters  would  disgrace  themselves  by  falling  in 
love  with  them." 

This  conversation  was  absolutely  cruel,  and  the  amiable 
Mrs.  BrowiT,  from  compassion  to  Helen,  withdrew  her  into  a 
corner  of  the  room,  and  entered  iaty  conversation  with  her 


VvILLY  RE  ILLY. 


'77 


upon  a  different  topic,  assuring  her  previously  that  she  would 
detail  their  offensive  and  ungenerous  remarks  to  her  father, 
who,  she  trusted,  would  never  see  them  under  his  roof  again, 
nor  give  them  an  opportunity  of  indulging  in  their  vulgar 
malignity  a  second  time.  Helen  thanked  her,  and  said  their 
hints  and  observations,  though  rude  and  ungenerous,  gave 
her  but  little  pain.  The  form  of  language  in  which  they  were 
expressed,  she  added,  and  the  indefensible  violation  of  all  the 
laws  of  hospitality,  blunted  the  severity  of  what  they  said. 

"  I  am  not  ashamed,"  she  said,  "  of  my  attachment  to  the 
brave  and  generous  young  man  who  saved  my  father's  life. 
He  is  of  no  vulgar  birth,  but  a  highly  educated  and  a  highly 
accomplished  gentleman — a  man,  in  fact,  my  dear  Mrs. 
Brown,  whom  no  woman,  be  her  rank  in  life  ever  so  high  or 
exalted,  might  blush  to  love.  /  do  not  blush  to  make  the 
avowal  that  I  love  him  ;  but,  unfortunately,  in  consequence 
of  the  existing  laws  of  the  country,  my  love  for  him,  which  I 
will  never  conceal,  must  be  a  hopeless  one." 

"  I  regret  the  state  of  those  laws,  my  dear  Miss  Folliard, 
as  much  as  you  do  ;  but  still  their  existence  puts  a  breach 
between  you  and  Reilly,  and  under  those  circumstances  my 
advice  to  you  is  to  overcome  your  affection  for  him  if  you 
can.     Marriage  is  out  of  the  question." 

"  It  is  not  marriage  I  think  of — for  that  is  out  of  the  ques- 
tion— but  Reilly's  life  and  safety.  If  he  were  safe,  I  should 
feel  comparatively  happy  ;  happiness,  in  its  full  extent,  I 
never  can  hope  to  enjoy  ;  but  if  he  were  only  safe — if  he  were 
only  safe,  my  dear  Mrs.  Brown  !  I  know  that  he  is  hunted 
like  a  beast  of  prey,  and  under  such  circumstances  as  disturb 
and  distract  the  country,  how  can  he  escape  .-'  " 

The  kind-hearted  lady  consoled  her  as  well  as  she  could  ; 
but,  in  fact,  her  grounds  for  consolation  were  so  slender  that 
her  arguments  only  amounted  to  those  general  observations 
which,  commonplace  as  they  are,  we  are  in  the  habit  of  hear- 
ing from  day  to  day.  Helen  was  too  high-minded  to  shed 
tears,  but  Mrs.  Brown  could  plainly  perceive  the  dipth  of  her 
emotion,  and  feel  the  extent  of  what  she  suffered. 

We  shall  not  detail  at  further  length  the  conversation  of 
the  other  ladies — if  ladies  they  can  be  called  ;  nor  that  of  the 
gentlemen,  after  they  entered  the  drawing-room.  Sir  Robert 
Whitecraft  attempted  to  enter  into  conversation  with  Helen, 
but  found  himself  firmly  and  decidedly  repulsed.  In  point  of 
fact,  some  of  the  gentlemen  were  not  in  a  state  to  grace  a 
drawing-room,  and  in  a  short  time  they  took  their  leave  and 
retired. 


178  WILLY  RETLLY. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

SIR    ROBERT    MEETS    A    BROTHER    SPORTSMAN DRAWJ    HIS 

NETS,    BUT   CATCHES    NOTHING. 

"  'Tis  conscience  that  makes  cowards  of  us  all,"  said 
Shakespeare,  with  that  wonderful  wisdom  which  enlightens 
his  glorious  pages  ;  and,  in  fact.  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  in 
his  own  person,  fully  corroborated  the  truth  of  the  poet's 
apophthegm.  The  man,  besides,  was  naturally  a  coward  ;  and 
when  to  this  we  add  the  consciousness  of  his  persecutions  and 
cruelties,  and  his  apprehensions  from  the  revenge  of  Reilly — 
the  destruction  of  whose  property,  without  any  authority  from 
Government  for  the  act,  he  felt  himself  guilty  of — the  reader 
may  understand  the  nature  and  extent  of  his  terrors  on  his 
wav  home.  The  distance  between  his  own  house  and  that  of 
his  intended  father-in  law  was  about  three  miles,  and  there 
lay  a  long  space  of  level  road,  hedged  in,  as  was  then  the 
custom,  on  both  sides,  from  behind  which  hedges  an  excellent 
aim  could  be  taken.  As  Sir  Robert  proceeded  along  this 
lonely  path,  his  horse  stumbled  against  some  stones  that  were 
in  his  way,  or  perhaps  that  had  been  purposely  placed  there. 
Be  that  as  it  may,  the  baronet  fell,  and  a  small  man,  of  com- 
pact size  and  vigorous  frame,  was  found  aiding  him  to  rise. 
Having  helped  him  into  his  saddle,  the  baronet  asked  him, 
with  an  infirm  and  alarmed  voice,  who  he  was. 

"  Why,  Sir  Robert,"  he  replied,  "you  must  know  I  am  not 
a  Papist,  or  I  wouldn't  be  apt  to  render  you  any  assistance; 
I  am  somewhat  of  your  own  kidney — a  bit  of  a  priest-hunter, 
on  a  small  scale.  I  used  to  j-^/ them  for  Captain  Smellpriest, 
but  he  paid  me  badly,  and  as  there  was  great  risk  among  the 
bloody  Papists,  I  made  up  my  mind  to  withdraw  out  of  his 
service  ;  but  you  are  a  gentleman,  Sir  Robert,  what  Captain 
Smellpriest  is  not,  and  if  you  want  an  active  and  useful  enemy 
to  Popery,  I  am  your  man." 

"I  want  such  a  person,  certainly,"  replied  the  baronet, 
who,  in  consequence  of  the  badness  of  the  road  and  the  dark- 
ness of  the  night,  was  obliged  to  walk  his  horse  with  caution. 
"  Bv  the  way,"  said  he,  "  did  vou  not  hear  a  noise  behind  the 
hed^-e  ? " 


WILLY  REILLY.  1 79 

"  I  did,"   replied   the   other,  "  but   it  was   the   noise  of 

cattle." 

*'  I  am  not  aware,"  replied  Sir  Robert,  "  what  the  devil 
cattle  can  have  to  do  immediately  behind  the  hedge.  I 
rather  think  they  are  some  of  our  own  species ; "  and  as  he 
ceased  speaking  the  tremendous  braying  of  a  jackass  came 
upon  their  ears. 

"  You  were  right,  Sir  Robert,"  replied  his  companion  ; 
"  I  beg  pardon,  I  mean  that  /  was  right ;  you  know  now  it 
was  cattle." 

"  What  is  your  name  ?  "  asked  Sir  Robert. 
"  Rowland  Drum,  Sir  Robert;  and,  if  you  will  permit  me, 
I  should  like  to  see  you  safe  home.  I  need  not  say  that  you 
are  hated  by  the  Papists  ;  and  as  the  road  is  lonesome  and 
dangerous,  as  a  priest-hunter  myself  I  think  it  an  act  of  duty 
not  to  leave  you." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Sir  Robert,  "  you  are  a  civil  person, 
and  I  will  accept  your  escort." 

"  Whatever  danger  you  may  run.  Sir  Robert,  I  will  stand 
by  your  side  and  partake  of  it." 

"  Thank  you,  friend,"  replied  Sir  Robert  ;  "  there  is  a 
lonely  place  before  us,  where  a  ghost  is  said  to  be  seen — the 
ghost  of  a  priest  whom  I  hunted  for  a  long  time  ;  Smellpriest, 
it  is  said,  shot  him  at  the  place  I  allude  to.  He  was  dis- 
guised as  a  drummer,  and  is  said  to  haunt  the  locality  where 
he  was  shot." 

"  Well,  I  shall  see  you  safe  over  the  place.  Sir  Robert,  and 
go  home  with  you  afterwards,  provided  you  will  promise  to 
give  me  a  bed  and  my  supper  ;  to-morrow  we  can  talk  on 
matters  of  business." 

"  I  shall  certainly  do  so,"  replied  Sir  Robert,  "  not  only  in 
consequence  of  your  attention  to  me,  but  of  our  common  pur- 
pose." 

They  then  proceeded  onwards — passed  the  haunted  spot 
— without  either  hearing  or  seeing  the  spectral  drummer.  On 
arriving  at  home.  Sir  Robert,  who  drank  privately,  ordered 
wine  for  himself,  and  sent  Rowland  Drum  to  the  kitchen, 
where  he  was  rather  meagerly  entertained,  and  was  after- 
wards lodged  for  the  night  in  the  garret. 

The  next  morning,  after  breakfast.  Sir  Robert  sent  for 
Mr.  Drum,  who,  on  entering  the  breakfast  parlor,  was  thus 
addressed  by  his  new  patron  : 

"  What's  this  you  say  your  name  is  ?  " 

*'  Rowland  Drum,  sir." 


,8o  ^!^L  V  REILL  Y. 

"  Rowland  Drum  !  Well,  now,  Rowland  Drum,  are  you 
well  acquainted  with  the  priests  of  this  diocese  ?  " 

"  No  man  better,"  replied  the  redoubtable  Rowland.  "  I 
know  most  of  them  by  person,  and  have  got  private  descrip- 
tions of  them  all  from  Captain  Smellpriest,  which  will  be  in- 
valuable to  you.  Sir  Robert.  The  fact  is — and  this  I  mention 
in  the  strictest  confidence — that  Smellpriest  is  suspicious  of 
your  attachment  to  our  glorious  Constitution." 

"The  confounded  rascal,"  replied  the  baronet.  '*  Did  he 
ever  burn  as  many  Popish  houses  as  I  have  done  ?  He  has 
no  appetite  for  anything  but  the  pursuit  and  capture  of  priests  ; 
but  I  have  a  far  more  general  and  unsparing  practice,  for  I 
not  only  capture  the  priests,  where  I  can,  but  every  lay  Pa- 
pist that  we  suspect  in  the  country.  Here,  for  instance.  Do 
you  see  those  papers  ?  They  are  blank  warrants  for  the  ap- 
prehension of  the  guilty  and  suspected,  and  also  protections, 
transmitted  to  me  from  the  Secretary  of  State,  that  I  may 
be  enabled,  by  his  authority,  to  protect  such  Papists  as  will 
give  useful  information  to  the  Government.  Here  they  are, 
signed  by  the  Secretary,  but  the  blanks  are  left  for  myself  to 
fill  up." 

"  I  wish  we  could  get  Reilly  to  come  over,"  said  Mr. 
Drum. 

"  Oh  !  the  infernal  villain,"  said  the  baronet,  "all  the  pro- 
tections that  ever  were  or  could  be  issued  from  the  Secre- 
tary's office  would  not  nor  could  not  save  him.  Old  Folliard 
and  I  will  hang  him,  if  there  was  not  another  man  to  be 
hanged  in  the  three  kingdoms." 

At  this  moment  a  servant  came  in  and  said,  "  Sir  Robert, 
there  is  a  woman  here  who  wishes  to  have  some  private  con- 
versation with  you." 

"  What  kind  of  a  woman  is  she  ?  "  asked  the  baronet. 

"  Faith,  your  honor,  a  sturdy  and  strapping  wench,  some- 
what rough  in  the  face,  but  of  great  proportions." 

Now  it  so  happened  that  Mr.  Drum  had  been  sitting  at 
the  window  during  this  brief  conversation,  and  at  once  recog- 
nized, under  the  disguise  of  a  woman,  the  celebrated  informer, 
the  Rev.  Mr.  Hennessy,  a  wretch  whose  criminal  course  of 
life,  as  we  said  before,  was  so  gross  and  reprobate  that  his 
pious  bishop  deemed  it  his  duty  to  suspend  him  from  all  cleri- 
cal functions. 

"  Sir  Robert,"  said  Drum,  "  I  must  go  up  to  my  room  and 
shave.  My  presence,  I  apprehend,  won't  be  necessary  where 
th«re  is  a  lady  in  question." 


WILLY  REILLY.  ,8i 

"Very  well,"  replied  the  baronet  ;  "  I  know  not  wliat  her 
business  may  be  ;  but  I  shall  be  glad  to  speak  with  you  after 
she  shall  have  gone." 

It  was  very  well  that  Hennessy  did  not  see  Drum,  whom 
he  would  at  once  have  recognized  ;  but,  at  all  events,  the  in- 
terview between  the  reprobate  priest  and  the  baronet  lasted 
for  at  least  an  hour. 

After  the  Rev.  Miss  Hennessy  had  taken  her  departure, 
Mr.  Drum  was  sent  for  by  the  baronet,  whom  he  still  found 
in  the  breakfast  parlor. 

"Drum,"  said  he,  "you  have  now  an  opportunity  of  es- 
sentially serving  not  only  me,  but  the  Government  of  the 
country.  This  lady  turns  out  to  be  a  Popish  priest  in  dis- 
guise, and  I  have  taken  him  into  my  confidence  as  a  guide 
and  auxiliary.  Now  you  have  given  me  proofs  of  personal 
attachment,  which  is  certainly  more  than  he  has  done  as  yet. 
I  have  heard  of  his  character  as  an  immoral  priest ;  and  the 
man  who  could  be  false  to  his  own  creed  is  not  a  man  to  be 
relied  upon.  He  has  described  to  me  the  position  of  a  cav- 
ern, in  which  are  now  hiding  a  set  of  proscribed  priests; 
but  I  cannot  have  confidence  in  his  information,  and  I  wish 
you  to  go  to  the  ravine  or  cavern,  or  whatever  the  devil  it  is, 
and  return  to  me  with  correct  intelligence.  It  m^y  be  a  lure 
to  draw  me  into  d^inger,  or  perhaps  to  deprive  me  of  my  life  ; 
but,  on  the  second  thought,  I  think  I  shall  get  a  military 
force  and  go  myself." 

"  And  perhaps  never  return,  unless  with  your  heels  fore- 
most. Sir  Robert.  I  tell  you  that  this  Hennessy  is  th^  most 
treacherous  scoundrel  on  the  face  of  the  earth.  You  ««  not 
know  what  he's  at,  but  I  will  tell  you,  for  I  have  it  from  his 
own  cousin.  His  object  is  to  have  you  assassinated,  in  order 
to  restore  himself  to  the  good  graces  of  the  bishop  and  the 
Catholic  party,  who,  I  must  say,  however,  would  not  counte- 
nance such  a  murderous  act ;  still,  Sir  Robert,  if  you  were 
taken  off,  the  man  who  took  you  off  would  have  his  name 
honored  and  exalted  throughout  the  country." 

"  Yes,  I  believe  you  are  right,  Drum  ;  they  are  thirsting 
for  my  blood,  but  not  more  than  I  am  thirsting  for  theirs." 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Drum,  "  don't  trust  yourself  to  the 
counsels  of  this  Hennessy,  who  in  my  opinion,  only  wants  to 
make  a  scapegoat  of  you.  Allow  me  to  go  to  the  place  he 
mentions,  for  I  know  the  ravine  well,  but  I  never  knew  nor 
do  I  believe  that  there  is  a  cavern  at  all  in  it,  and  that  is 
what  makes  me  suspecl  the  scoundrel's  motives.     He  can 


l82  WILLY  REILLY. 

have  hundreds  of  outlaws  secretly  armed,  who  would  never 
suffer  you  to  escape  with  your  life.  The  thing  is  an  ambus- 
cade ;  take  my  word  for  it,  it  is  nothing  less.  Of  course  you 
can  go,  yourself  and  your  party,  if  you  wish.  You  will  pre- 
vent me  from  running  a  great  risk  ;  but  I  am  only  anxious 
for  your  safety." 

"  Well  then,"  said  Sir  Robert,  "  you  shall  go  upon  this 
mission.  It  may  not  be  safe  for  me  to  do  so.  Try  if  you  can 
make  out  this  cavern,  if  there  be  a  cavern." 

"  I  will  try,  Sir  Robert ;  and  I  will  venture  to  say,  that  if 
it  can  be  made  out,  /  will  make  it  out." 

Rowland  Drum  accordingly  set  out  upon  his  mission,  and 
having  arrived  at  the  cavern,  with  which  he  was  so  well  ac- 
quainted, he  entered  it  with  the  usual  risk.  His  voice,  how- 
ever, was  recognized,  and  he  got  instant  admittance. 

"  My  dear  friends,"  said  he,  after  he  had  entered  the 
inner  part  of  it,  "  you  must  disperse  immediately.  Hennessy 
has  betrayed  you,  and  if  you  remain  here  twenty-four  hours 
longer,  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  and  a  party  of  military,  guided, 
probably,  by  the  treacherous  scoundrel  himself,  will  be  upon 
you.  The  villain  had  a  long  interview  with  him,  and  gave  a 
full  detail  of  the  cavern  and  its  inmates." 

"  But  how  did  you  become  acquainted  with  Sir  Robert 
Whitecraft  ?  "  asked  the  bishop. 

"  In  order,  my  lord,  to  ascertain  his  intentions  and  future 
proceedings,"  replied  Mr.  Drum,  "that  we  might  guard 
against  his  treachery  and  persecution.  On  his  way  home 
from  a  dinner  at  Squire  Folliard's  I  met  him  in  a  Jonely  part 
of  the  road,  where  he  was  thrown  from  his  horse  ;  I  helped 
him  into  his  saddle,  told  him  I  was  myself  a  priest-hunter, 
and  thus  got  into  his  confidence  so  far  as  to  be  able  to  frus- 
trate Hennessy's  treachery,  and  to  counteract  his  own  de- 
signs." 

"  Sir,"  said  the  bishop  sternly,  "  you  have  acted  a  part 
unworthy  of  a  Christian  clergyman.  We  should  not  do  evil 
that  good  may  follow ;  and  you  have  done  evil  in  associating 
yourself,  in  any  sense  and  for  any  purpose,  with  this  blood- 
thirsty tiger  and  persecutor  of  the  faithful." 

"  My  lord,"  replied  the  priest,  "  this  is  not  a  time  to  enter 
into  a  discussion  on  such  a  subject.  Hennessy  has  betrayed 
us  ;  and  if  you  do  not  disperse  to  other  places  of  safety,  he 
will  himself,  as  I  said,  lead  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  and  a 
military  party  to  this  very  cavern,  and  then  may  God  have 
mercy  on  you  all." 


WILL  Y  HE  ILL  Y.  I  g^ 

"  Brethren-"  saif^  the  bishop,  "this  is,  after  all,  possible 
that  our  brother  has,  by  the  inercy  and  providence  of  God, 
through  his  casual  meeting  with  this  remorseless  man,  been 
made  the  instrument  of  our  safety.  As  for  myself,  1  am 
willing  to  embrace  the  crown  of  martyrdom,  and  to  lay  down 
my  life,  if  necessary,  for  the  faith  that  is  in  me.  You  all 
know  what  I  have  already  suffered,  and  you  know  that  per- 
secution drives  a  wise  man  mad.  My  children,"  he  added, 
"  it  is  possible,  and  I  fear  too  probable,  that  some  of  us  may 
never  see  each  other  in  this  life  again  ;  but  at  the  same  time, 
let  it  be  to  our  hope  and  consolation  that  we  shall  meet  in  a 
better.  And  for  this  purpose,  and  in  order  to  secure  a 
futurity  of  happiness,  let  us  lead  spotless  and  irreproachable 
lives,  such  as  will  enable  us  to  meet  the  hour  of  death, 
whether  it  comes  by  the  hand  of  God  or  the  persecution  of 
man.  Be  faithful  to  the  principles  of  our  holy  religion — be 
faithful  to  truth — to  moral  virtue — be  faithful  to  God,  before 
whose  awful  tribunal  we  must  all  appear,  and  render  an  ac- 
count of  our  lives.  It  would  be  mere  wantonness  to  throw 
ourselves  into  the  hands  of  our  persecutors.  Reserve  your- 
selves for  the  continuance  and  the  sustainment  of  our  blessed 
religion  ;  but  if  you  should  happen  to  fall,  by  the  snares  and 
devices  of  the  enemy,  into  the  power  of  those  who  are  striv- 
ing to  work  our  extermination,  and  if  they  should  press  you 
to  renounce  your  faith,  upon  the  alternative  of  banishment 
or  death,  then,  I  say,  banishment,  or  death  itself,  sooner 
than  become  apostates  to  your  religion.  I  shall  retire  to  a 
neighborhood  only  a  few  miles  distant  from  this,  where  the 
poor  Catholic  population  are  without  spiritual  aid  or  conso- 
lation. I  have  been  there  before,  and  I  know  their  wants, 
and  were  it  not  that  I  was  hunted  and  pursued  with  a  view 
to  my  death — to  my  murder,  I  should  rather  say — I  would 
have  remained  with  them  still.  But  that  I  considered  it  a 
duty  to  that  portion  of  the^  Church  over  which  God  called 
upon  me  to  preside  and  watch,  I  would  not  have  avoided 
those  inhuman  traffickers  in  the  blood  of  God's  people. 
Yet  I  am  bound  to  say  that,  from  the  clergymen  of  the  Es- 
tablished Church,  and  from  many  Protestant  magistrates,  we 
have  received  kindness,  sympathy,  and  shelter.  Their  doors, 
their  hearths,  and  their  hearts  have  been  open  to  us,  and  that, 
too,  in  a  truly  Christian  spirit.  Let  us,  then,  render  them 
for  good  ;  let  us  pray  for  their  conversion,  and  that  they  may 
return  to  the  right  path." 

"  They  have  acted  generously  and  nobly,"  added  Reilly, 


1 84  WILL  Y  RE  ILL  Y 

"  and  in  a  truly  Christian  spirit.  Were  it  not  for  the  shelter 
and  protection  which  I  myself  received  from  one  cf  them,  my 
mangled  body  would  probably  be  huddled  down  into  some 
obscure  grave,  as  a  felon,  and  my  property — which  is  mine 
only  by  a  necessary  fiction  and  evasion  of  the  law — have 
passed  into  the  hands  of  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft.  I  am  wrong, 
however,  in  saying  that  it  could.  Mr.  Hastings,  a  generous 
and  liberal  Protestant,  took  it  in  his  own  name  for  my  father, 
but  gave  me  a  deed  of  assignment,  placing  it  as  securely  in 
my  hands,  and  in  my  power,  as  if  I  were  Sir  Robert  White^ 
craft  himself ;  and  I  must  add — which  I  do  with  pleasure — 
that  the  deed  in  question  is  now  in  the  possession  of  the  Rev. 
Mr.  Brown,  the  amiable  rector  of  the  parish." 

"  But  he  is  a  heretic,"  said  a  red-faced  little  man,  dressed 
in  leather  breeches,  top  boots,  and  a  huntsman's  cap  ;  "  vade 
retro,  sathanas.  It  is  a  damnable  crime  to  have  any  inter- 
course with  them,  or  to  receive  any  protection  from  them : 
vade  retro,  sathanas." 

"  If  I  don't  mistake,"  said  the  cool% — an  archdeacon,  by 
the  way — "you  yourself  received  protection  from  them,  and 
were  glad  to  receive  it." 

"  If  I  did  receive  protection  from  one  of  their  heretic 
parsons,  it  was  for  Christian  purposes.  My  object  was  not 
so  much  to  seek  protection  from  him  as  to  work  out  his  sal- 
vation by  withdrawing  him  from  his  heresy.  But  then  the 
fellow  was  as  obstinate  as  sathanas  himself,  and  had  Greek 
and  Hebrew  at  his  fingers*  ends.  I  made  several  passes  at 
him — tried  Irish,  and  told  him  it  was  Italian.  '  Well,'  said 
he,  smiling,  '  /  understand  Italian  too  ; '  and  to  my  astonish- 
ment he  addressed  me  in  the  best  Irish  I  ever  heard  spoken. 
'  Now,'  said  he,  still  smiling,  '  you  perceive  that  I  understand 
Italian  nearly — I  will  not  say  so  well — as  you  do.'  Now  as  I 
am  a  sinner,  that,  I  say,  was  ungenerous  treatment.  He  was 
perfectly  irreclaimabk."' 

This  man  was,  like  Mr.  Maguire,  what  has  been  termed  a 
hedge-priest — a  character  which,  as  we  have  already  said,  the 
poverty  of  the  Catholic  people,  during  the  existence  of  the 
penal  laws,  and  the  consequent  want  of  spiritual  instruction, 
rendered  necessary.  There  were  no  Catholic  colleges  in  the 
country,  and  the  result  was  that  the  number  of  foreign  priests 
— by  which  I  mean  Irish  priests  educated  in  foreign  colleges 
— was  utterly  inadequate  to  meet  the  spiritual  necessities  of 
the  Irish  population.  Under  those  circumstances,  men  of 
good  and  virtuous   character,  who  understood  something  of 


WILLY  REILLY.  iSg 

the  Latin  tongue,  were  ordained  by  their  respective  bishops, 
for  the  purpose  which  we  have  already  mentioned.  But 
what  a  ditTerence  was  there  between  those  half-educated  men 
and  the  class  of  educated  clergymen  who  now  adorn,  not  only 
their  Church,  but  the  literature  of  the  country! 

"  Well,  my  dear  friend,"  said  the  bishop,  ''  let  us  be  thank- 
ful for  the  protection  which  we  have  received  at  the  hands  of 
the  Protestant  clergy  and  of  many  of  the  Protestant  laity 
also.  We  now  separate,  and  I  for  one  am  sensible  how  much 
this  cruel  persecution  has  strengthened  the  bonds  of  Chris- 
tian love  among  us,  and  excited  our  sympathy  for  our  poor 
persecuted  flocks,  so  many  of  whom  are  now  without  a  shep- 
herd. I  leave  you  with  tears — but  they  are  tears  of  affection, 
and  not  of  despair.  I  shall  endeavor  to  be  useful  wherever  I 
may  abide.  Let  each  of  you  do  all  the  spiritual  good  you 
can — all  the  earthly  good — all  good  in  its  most  enlarged  and 
purest  sense.  But  we  must  separate — probably,  some  of  us, 
forever  ;  and  now  may  the  blessing  of  the  Almighty  God — of 
the  Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost,  rest  upon  you  all,  and 
be  with  you  and  abide  in  your  hearts,  now  and  forever  1 
Amen  ! " 

Having  pronounced  these  words,  he  covered  his  face  with 
his  two  hands  and  wept  bitterly.  There  were  indeed  few 
dry  eyes  around  him  ;  they  knelt  before  him,  kissed  his  ring, 
and  prepared  to  take  their  departure  out  of  the  cavern. 

"  My  lord,"  said  Reilly,  who  still  entertained  apprehen- 
sions of  the  return  of  his  malady,  "  if  you  will  permit  me  L 
shall  share  your  fate,  wherever  it  may  be.  The  poor  people 
you  allude  to  are  not  in  a  condition  to  attend  to  your  wants. 
Allow  me,  then,  to  attend  and  accompany  you  in  your  retreat." 

"My  dear  friend,"  said  the  bishop,  clasping  his  hand, 
"  you  are  heaping  coals  of  fire  upon  my  head.  I  trust  you 
will  forgive  me,  for  I  knew  not  what  I  did.  I  shall  be  glad 
of  your  companionship.  I  fear  I  still  stand  in  need  of  such 
a  friend.  Be  it  so,  then,"  he  proceeded — "be  it  so,  my  dear 
friend  ;  only  that  I  should  not  wish  you  to  involve  yourself  in 
unnecessary  danger  on  my  account." 

"  Danger,  my  lord  !  "  replied  Reilly  ;  "  there  is  not  an  in- 
dividual here  against  whom  personal  malignity  has  directed 
the  vengeance  of  the  law  with  such  a  bloodthirsty  and  vindic- 
tive spirit  as  against  mvself.  Why  else  am  I  here  }  No,  I 
will  arccompany  your  lordship,  and  share  your  fate." 

It  was  so  determined,  and  they  left  the  cavern,  each  to 
procure  some  place  of  safety  for  himself. 


1 86  ^ILL  Y  RE  ILL  V. 

In  the  mean  time,  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  having  nad  an- 
other interview  with  Hennessy,  was  prevailed  upon  to  get  a 
military  party  together,  and  the  cunning  reprobate,  in  order 
to  excite  the  baronet's  vengeance  to  a  still  higher  pitch,  men- 
tioned a  circumstance  which  he  had  before  forgotten,  to  wit, 
that  Reillv,  his  arch- enemy,  was  also  in  the  cave. 

"  But,"  said  Sir  Robert,  who,  as  we  have  already  said,  was 
a  poltroon  and  a  coward,  "  what  guarantee  can  you  give  me 
that  you  are  not  leading  me  into  an  ambuscade  ?  You  know 
that  I  am  unpopular,  and  the  Papists  would  be  delighted  to 
have  my  blood  ;  what  guarantee,  then,  can  you  give  me  that 
you  are  acting  by  me  in  good  faith  ?  " 

"  The  guarantee  of  my  own  life,"  replied  the  other.  "  Let 
me  be  placed  between  two  of  your  men,  and  if  you  see  any 
thing  like  an  ambuscade,  let  them  shoot  me  dead  on  the 
spot." 

"  Why,"  replied  the  baronet,  "  that  is  fair  ;  but  the  truth 
is,  I  have  been  put  on  my  guard  against  you  by  a  person  who 
escorted  me  home  last  night.  He  rendered  me  some  assist- 
ance when  I  fell  from  my  horse,  and  he  slept  here." 

''What  is  his  name?"  asked  Hennessy. 

"  He  told  me,"  replied  the  baronet,  "  that  his  name  was 
Drum." 

"  Could  you  give  me  a  description.  Sir  Robert,  of  this 
person  .'' " 

Sir  Robert  did  so. 

"  I  declare  to  God,  Sir  Robert,  you  have  had  a  narrow 
escape  from  that  man.  He  is  one  of  the  most  bigoted  priests 
in  the  kingdoin.  He  used  to  disguise  himself  as  a  drummer 
— for  his  father  was  in  the  army,  and  he  himself  was  a  drum- 
mer in  his  boyhood  ;  and  his  object  in  preventing  you 
from  bringing  a  military  party  to  the  cavern  was  merely  that 
he  might  have  an  opportunity  of  giving  them  notice  of  your 
intentions.  I  now  say  that  if  you  lose  an  hour's  time  they 
will  be  gone. 

Sir  Robert  did  not  lose  an  hour's  time.  The  local  bar- 
racks were  within  a  few  hundred  yards  of  his  house.  A  party 
of  military  were  immediately  called  out,  and  in  a  short  time 
they  arrived,  under  the  guidance  of  Hennessy,  to  the  very 
mouth  of  the  cavern,  which  he  disclosed  to  them.  It  is  un- 
necessary to  detail  the  particulars  of  the  search.  The  sol- 
diers entered  it  one  by  one,  but  found  that  the  birds  had 
flown.  The  very  fires  were  burning,  but  not  a  living  soul  in 
the  cave  ;  it  was  comp'eiely  deserted,  and  nothing  remained 


WILL  Y  REILL  Y. 


187 


but  some  miserable  relics  of  cold  provisions,  with  which,  by 
the  aid  of  fir  splices  that  served  as  torches,  they  regaled 
themselves  as  far  as  they  went. 

Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  now  felt  full  confidence  in  Hen- 
nessy  ;  but  would  have  given  a  trifle  to  renew  his  acquaint- 
ance with  Mr.  Rowland  Drum,  by  whose  ingenuity  he  was 
so  completely  outwitted.  As  it  was,  they  scoured  the  country 
in  search  of  the  inmates  of  the  cave,  but  above  all  things  in 
search  of  Reilly,  for  whose  capture  Whitecraft  would  have 
forgiven  every  man  in  the  cavern.  The  search,  however,  was 
unsuccessful  ;  not  a  man  of  them  was  caught  that  day,  and 
gallant  Sir  Robert  and  his  myrmidons  were  obliged  to  return 
wearied  and  disappointed  men. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 


REILLY    IS    TAKEN,    BUT   CONNIVED   AT    BY   THE    SHERIFF — THE 
MOUNTAIN    MASS. 

Reilly  and  the  bishop  traversed  a  wild  and  remote  part 
of  the  country,  in  which  there  was  nothing  to  be  seen  but  long 
barren  wastes,  over  which  were  studded,  here  and  there,  a 
few  solitary  huts  ;  upon  its  extremity,  however,  there  were 
some  houses  of  a  more  comfortable  description,  the  habita- 
tions of  middling  farmers,  who  possessed  small  farms  at  a 
moderate  rent.  As  they  went  along,  the  prelate  addressed 
Reilly  in  the  following  terms  : 

"Mr.  Reilly,"  said  he,  "  I  would  advise  you  to  get  out  of 
this  unhappy  country  as  soon  as  you  can." 

"  My  lord,"  replied  Reilly,  who  was  all  candor  and  truth, 
and  never  could  conceal  his  sentiments,  at  whatever  risk,  "  I 
cannot  think  of  leaving  the  country,  let  the  consequences  be 
what  they  may.  I  will  not  trouble  your  lordship  with  my 
motives,  because  they  are  at  variance  with  your  character  and 
religious  feelings  ;  but  they  are  7iot  at  variance  with  religion 
or  morality.  It  is  enough  to  say  that  I  wish  to  prevent  a 
beautiful  and  innocent  girl  from  being  sacrificed.  My  lord, 
you  know  too  well  that  persecution  is  abroad  ;  and  when  I 
tell  you  that,  through  the  influence  which  this  admirable 
creature  has  over  her  father — who,  by  the  way,  has  himself 
the  character  of  a  persecutor — many  Catholics  have  been  pro- 


1 88  WILL  Y  HE  ILL  Y. 

tected  by  him,  I  am  sure  'you  will  not  blame  me  for  the 
interest  which  1  feel  in  her  fate.  In  addition  to  this,  my  lord, 
she  has  been  a  ministering  angel  to  the  Catholic  poor  in 
general,  and  has  contributed  vast  sums,  privately,  to  the  re- 
lief of  such  of  our  priesthood  as  have  been  brought  to  distress 
by  the  persecution  of  the  times.  Nay,  she  has  so  far  in- 
fluenced her  father,  that  proscribed  priests  have  found  refuge 
and  protection  in  his  house." 

The  bishop,  on  hearing  this,  stood,  and  taking  off  his  hat, 
raised  his  right  hand,  and  said  :  "  May  the  blessing  of  the 
Almighty  God  rest  upon  her,  and  guard  her  from  the  snares 
of  those  who  would  make  her  unhappy  !  But,  Reilly,  as  you 
say  you  are  determined,  if  possible,  to  rescue  her  from  ruin, 
you  know  that  if  you  go  at  large  in  your  usual  dress,  you 
will  unquestionably  be  taken.  I  advise  you,  then,  to  disguise 
yourself  in  such  a  way  as  that  you  will  not,  if  possible,  be 
known." 

"  Such,  my  lord,  is  my  intention — but  who  is  this  ?  what 
— eh — yes,  'tis  Fergus  O'Reilly,  a  distant  and  humble  relation 
of  mine  who  is  also  in  disguise.  Well,  Fergus,  where  have 
you  been  for  some  time  past  ?  " 

"  It  would  be  difficult  to  tell  that,  God  knows  ;  I  have 
been  everywhere — but,"  he  added  in  a  whisper,  "  may  I  speak 
freely  ?  " 

"As  free  as  the  wind  that  blows,  Fergus." 

"  Well,  then,  I  teli  you  that  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  has  en- 
gaged me  to  be  on  the  lookout  for  you,  and  said  that  I  would 
be  handsomely  rewarded  if  I  could  succeed  in  enabling  the 
scoundrel  to  apprehend  you." 

"  But  how  did  that  come  about,  Fergus  ?  " 

"  Faith,  he  met  me  one  day — you  see  I  have  got  a  bag  at 
my  back — and  taking  me  for  a  beggarman,  stopped  me  on 
the  road.  '  I  say,  you,  poor  man,'  says  he,  '  what's  your 
name  ? '  '  Paddy  M'Fud.'  says  I, — '  I  belong  to  the  M'Fuds  of 
Ballymackknockem.'  '  You're  a  beggar,'  says  he,  '  and  travel 
from  place  to  place  about  the  country.'  '  It's  true  enough, 
your  honor,'  I  replied,  '  I  travel  about  a  good  deal,  of  coorse, 
and  it's  only  that  way  that  I  get  my  bit  and  sup.'  '  Do  )OU 
know  the  notorious  villain  called  Willy  Reilly.''  'Not  b> 
sight,  your  honor,  but  I  have  often  heard  of  him.  Wasn't  he 
in  love  with  the  beautiful  Cooken  Bawn,  Squire  Folliard's 
daughter?'  'That's  not  the  question  between  us,' he  said, 
*but  if  you  enable  me  to  catch  Reilly,  I  will  give  you  twenty 
pounds.'     '  Well,  your  honor  '  says  I,  '  lave   the  thing  to  my- 


WILL  V  RELLL  Y.  1 89 

self  ;  if  he  is  to  be  had  it'll  go  hard  but  I'll  find  him.'  'Well. 
then,'  says  he,  '  if  you  can  tell  me  where  he  is  I  will  give  you 
twenty  pounds,  as  I  said.'  '  Well,  sir,'  says  I,  '  I  expeci  to 
hear  from  you  ;  I  am  not  sure  he's  in  the  country — indeed 
they  say  he'is  not — but  if  he  is,  1  think  I'll  find  him  for  you  ;' 
and  so  we  parted." 

"  Fergus,"  said  Reilly,  "  I  feel  that  a  disguise  is  neces- 
sary. Here  is  money  to  enable  you  to  purchase  one.  I  do 
not' know  where  you  may  be  able  to  find  me  ;  but  go  and  buy 
me  a  suit  of  frieze,  rather  worn,  a  dingy  caubeen  hat,  coarse 
Connemara  stockings,  and  a  pair  of  clouted  brogues  ;  some 
coarse  linen,  too  ;  because  the  fineness  of  my  shirts,  should  I 
happen  to  be  apprehended,  might  betray  me.  Leave  them 
with  Widow  Buckley,  and  I  can  find  them  there." 

It  was  so  arranged.  Fergus  went  on  his  way,  as  did 
Reilly  and  the  bishop.  The  latter  conducted  him  to  the 
house  of  a  middling  farmer,  whose  son  the  bishop  had  sent, 
at  his  own  expense,  to  a  continental  college.  They  were 
both  received  with  the  warmest  affection,  and,  so  far  as  the 
bishop  was  concerned,  with  every  expression  of  the  deepest 
gratitude.  The  situation  was  remote,  and  the  tumult  of 
pursuit  did  not  reach  them.  Reilly  privately  forced  upon  the 
farmer  compensation  for  their  support,  under  a  solemn  injunc- 
tion that  he  should  not  communicate  that  circumstance  to  the 
bishop,  and  neither  did  he.  They  were  here,  then,  com- 
paratively safe,  but  still  Reilly  dreaded  the  active  vigilance  of 
his  deadly  enemy,  Sir  Robert' Whitecraft.  He  felt  that  a  dis- 
guise was  absolutely  necessary,  and  that,  without  it,  he  might 
fall  a  sacrifice  to  the  diabolical  vengeance  of  his  powerful 
enemy.  In  the  course  of  about  ten  days  after  he  had  com- 
missioned Fergus  to  procure  him  the  disguise,  he  resolved  to 
visit  widow  Buckley,  in  order  to  make  the  necessary  exchange 
in  his  apparel.  He  accordingly  set  out — very  foolishly  we 
must  admit — in  open  day,  to  go  to  the  widow's  house.  The 
distance  was  some  miles.  No  appearance  of  danger,  or  pur- 
suit, was  evident,  until  he  came  to  the  sharp  angle  of  the  road, 
where  he  was  met  by  four  powerful  constables,  who,  on  look- 
ing at  him,  immediately  surrounded  him  and  made  him  pris- 
oner. Resistance  was  impossible  ;  they  were  well  armed,  and 
he  was  without  any  weapon  with  which  he  could  defend 
himself. 

"  We  have  a  warrant  tor  your  appr«ne:>sion,  sir,"  said  one 
of  them. 

"  Upoi     wha^   grounds  *  "      ''olied    Reilly.     "  I  am  con- 


19«  WILL  V  REILL  y. 

scious  of  no  offence  against  the  laws  of  the  land.  Do  you 
know  who  I  am  ?  and  is  my  name  in  your  warrant  ?  " 

"  No,  but  your  appearance  answers  completely  to  the  de- 
scription given  in  the  Hue  and  Cry.  Your  dress  is  the  same 
as  that  of  the  robber,  and  you  must  come  with  us  to  the 
sheriff  whom  you  have  robbed.  His  house  is  only  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  from  this." 

They  accordingly  proceeded  to  the  sheriff's  house,  whom 
they  found  at  home.  On  being  informed  that  they  had  cap- 
tured the  man  who  had  robbed  him.  he  came  down  stairs  with 
great  alacrity,  and  in  a  spirit  replete  with  vengeance  against 
the  robber.  The  sheriff,  however,  was  really  a  good-natured 
and  conscientious  man,  and  would  not  lend  himself  to  a  dis- 
honorable act,  nor  had  he  ever  been  known  to  do  so.  When 
he  appeared,  Reilly  addressed  him  : 

"  I  am  here,  sir,"  said  he,  "  under  a  charge  of  having  rob- 
bed you.  The  charge  against  me  is  ridiculous.  I  am  a 
gentleman,  and  never  was  under  the  necessity  of  having  re- 
course to  such  unlawful  means  of  raising  money." 

"  Well,"  replied  the  sheriff,  "  your  dress  is  precisely  the 
same  as  the  fellow  wore  when  he  robbed  me.  But  I  feel  con- 
fident that  you  are  not  the  man.  Your  hair  is  black,  his  was 
red,  and  he  had  large  red  whiskers.  In  the  excitement  and 
agitation  of  the  moment  I  forgot  to  mark  the  villain's  features 
distinctly ;  but  I  have  since  thought  over  the  matter,  and  I 
say  that  I  would  now  know  him  if  I  saw  him  again.  This, 
however,"  he  added,  turning  to  the  constables,  "  is  not  the 
person  who  robbed  and  beat  me  down  from  my  horse." 

"  But  he  may  be  Willy  Reilly,  sir,  for  all  that ;  and  you 
know  the  reward  that  is  offered  for  his  apprehension." 

"  I  know  Willy  Reilly,"  replied  the  sheriff,  "  and  I  can 
assure  you  that  this  gentleman  is  not  Willy  Reilly.  Go,  now, 
continue  your  pursuit.  The  robber  lurks  somewhere  in  the 
neighborhood.  You  know  the  reward  ;  catch  him,  and  you 
shall  have  it." 

The  constables  departed  ;  and  after  they  had  gone  the 
sheriff  said, 

"  Mr.  Reilly,  I  know  you  well  ;  but  I  would  scorn  to  avail 
myself  of  the  circumstance  which  has  thus  occurred.  I  am 
aware  of  the  motive  which  urges  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft 
against  you — so  is  the  whole  country.  That  penurious  and 
unprincipled  villain  is  thirsting  for  your  blood.  Mr.  Hast- 
ings, however,  has  a  rod  in  pickle  for  him,  and  he  will  be 
made  to  feel  it  in  the  course  of  time.     The  present  adminis- 


WILLY  REILLY.  igt 

tration  is  certainly  an  anti-Catliolic  one  ;  but  I  understand  it 
is  tottering,  and  that  a  more  liberal  one  will  come  in.  This 
Whitecraft  has  succeeded  in  getting  some  young  profligate 
Catholics  to  become  Protestants,  who  have,  consequently, 
ousted  their  fathers  out  of  their  estates  and  property  ;  younger 
sons,  who,  by  this  act  of  treachery,  will  get  the  estates  into 
their  own  possession.  The  thing  is  monstrous  and  unnatural. 
But  let  that  pass  ;  Whitecraft  is  on  your  trail  in  all  directions  ; 
beware  of  him,  I  say  ;  and  I  think,  with  great  respect  to  you, 
Mr.  Reilly,  it  is  extremely  foolish  to  go  abroad  in  your  usual 
apparel,  and  without  disguise." 

"  Sir,"  replied  Reilly,  "  I  cannot  express,  as  I  would 
wish,  my  deep  gratitude  to  you  for  your  kindness  and  for- 
bearance. That  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  is  thirsting  for  my 
blood  I  know.  The  cause  of  that  vengeance  is  now  noto- 
rious." 

"  You  know  Mr.  Hastings,  Mr.  Reilly  ? " 

"  Intimately,  sir." 

"  He  took  your  property  in  his  own  name  ?  " 

"  He  did,  sir  ;  he  purchased  it  in  his  own  name.  The 
property  was  hereditary  property,  and  when  my  title  to  it,  in 
point  of  law,  as  a  Catholic,  was  questioned,  and  when  one  of 
my  family,  as  a  Protestant,  put  in  his  claim  for  it,  Mr.  Hast- 
ings came  in  as  the  purchaser,  and  ousted  him.  The  money 
was  supplied  by  me.  The  moment,  however,  that  I  found 
Whitecraft  was  after  me,  I  immediately  surrendered  the  whole 
of  it  back  to  him  ;  so  that  Sir  Robert,  in  burning  what  he 
considered  my  property,  in  fact  burned  Mr.  Hastings'." 

"  And  I  have  reason  to  know,  Mr.  Reilly,  that  it  will  be 
the  blackest  act  of  his  guilty  life.  This,  however,  I  mention 
to  you  in  the  strictest  confidence.  Keep  the  secret,  for  if  it 
transpired,  the  scoundrel  might  escape  from  the  consequences 
of  his  own  cruelty  and  oppression.  In  the  mean  time,  do  you 
take  care  of  yourself — keep  out  of  his  way,  and,  as  I  said, 
above  all  things,  procure  a  disguise.  Let  the  consequences 
be  what  they  may,  I  don't  think  the  beautiful  Cooleen  Bawv 
will  ever  marry  him." 

"  But,"  replied  Reilly,  "  is  there  no  risk  of  compulsion  by 
her  father  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  must  confess  there  is,"  replied  the  sheriff  ;  "  he 
is  obstinate  and  headstrong,  especially  if  opposed,  and  she 
will  find  it  necessary  to  oppose  him — and  she  tvill  oppose 
him.  I  myself  have  had  a  conversation  with  her  on  the  sub- 
ject, and  she  is  firm  as  fate  against  such  a  union ;  and  I  will 


192 


t^/LL  Y  REILL  Y. 


tell  you  more,  Reilly — it  was  she  who  principally  engaged  me 
to  protect  you  as  far  as  I  could,  and  so  I  shall,  you  may  rest 
assured  of  it.  I  had  only  to  name  you  a  few  minutes  ago, 
and  your  fate  was  sealed.  But,  even  if  she  had  never  spoken 
to  me  on  the  subject,  I  could  not  lend  myself  to  the  cruel 
plots  of  that  villain.  God  knows,  in  consequence  of  my 
official  situation,  I  am  put  upon  tasks  that  are  very  painful  to 
me  ;  levying  fines  from  men  who  are  harmless  and  inoffensive, 
who  are  peaceable  members  of  society,  who  teach  the  people 
to  be  moral,  well  conducted,  and  obedient  to  the  laws,  and 
who  do  not  themselves  violate  them.  Now,"  he  added,  "  be 
advised  by  me,  and  disguise  yourself." 

"  Sir,"  said  Reilly,  "  your  sentiments  do  you  honor  ;  I 
am  this  moment  on  my  way  to  put  on  a  disguise,  which  has 
been  procured  for  me.  I  agree  with  you  and  other  friends 
that  it  would  be  impossible  for  me  to  remain  in  the  country 
in  my  own  natural  aspect  and  dress.  Allow  me,  before  I  go, 
to  express  my  sense  of  your  kindness,  and  believe  me  I  shall 
never  forget  it." 

"  The  disguise,  above  all  things,"  said  the  sheriff,  smiling 
and  holding  out  his  hand.  Reilly  seized  it  with  a  warm 
pressure ;  they  bid  each  other  farewell,  and  so  they  parted. 

Reilly  then  wound  his  way  to  the  cottage  of  Mrs.  Buck- 
ley, but  not  by  the  public  road.  He  took  across  the  fields, 
and,  in  due  time,  reached  her  humble  habitation.  Here  he 
found  the  disguise,  which  his  friend  Fergus  had  provided — 
a  half-worn  frieze  coat,  a  half-worn  caubeen,  and  a  half-worn 
pair  of  corduroy  breeches,  clouted  brogues,  and  Connemara 
stockings,  also  the  worse  for  the  wear,  with  two  or  three 
coarse  shirts,  in  perfect  keeping  with  the  other  portion  of  the 
disguise. 

"  Well,  Mrs.  Buckley,"  said  he,  "  how  have  you  been  since 
I  saw  you  last  ?  " 

"  Oh,  then,  Mr.  Reilly,"  said  she,  "  it's  a  miracle  from  God 
that  you  did  not  think  of  stopping  here  !  I  had  several  visits 
from  the  sogers  who  came  out  to  look  for  you," 

"  Well,  I  suppose  so,  Mrs.  Buckley ;  but  it  was  one  com- 
fort that  they  did  not  find  me." 

"  God  be  praised  for  that !  "  replied  the  poor  woman,  with 
tears  in  her  eyes ;  "  it  would  a'  broken  my  heart  if  you  had 
been  catched  in  my  little  place." 

"  But,  Mrs.  Buckley,"  said  Reilly,  "  were  there  any  plain 
clothes  left  for  me  here  ?  " 

"  Oh,  indeed  there  was,  sir,"  she  replied,  "  and  I  have 


WILLV  kEtLLY.  1 93 

them  safe  for  you  ;  but,  in  the  mean  time,  I'll  go  outside,  and 
have  an  eye  about  the  country,  for  somehow  they  have  taken 
it  into  their  heads  that  this  would  be  a  very  likely  place  to 
find  you." 

While  she  was  out,  Reilly  changed  his  dress,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  underwent  such  a  metamorphosis,  that  poor  Mrs. 
Buckley,  on  re-entering  the  house,  felt  quite  alarmed. 

"  Heavenly  Father  !  my  good  man,  where  did  you  come 
from  ?  I  thought  I  left  Mr. — "  here  she  stopped,  afraid  to 
mention  Reilly's  name. 

"  Don't  be  alarmed,  Mrs.  Buckley,"  said  Reilly  ;  "  I  am 
only  changed  in  outward  appearance  ;  I  am  your  true  friend 
still  ;  and  now  accept  this  for  your  kindness,"  placing  money 
in  her  hand. 

"  I  can't,  Mr.  Reilly ;  you  are  under  the  persecutions, 
and  will  want  all  the  money  you  have  to  support  yourself. 
Didn't  the  thieves  of  the  devil  burn  you  out  and  rob  you,  and 
how  can  you  get  through  this  wicked  world  without  money — 
keep  it  yourself,  for  I  don't  want  it." 

"  Come,  come,  Mrs.  Buckley,  I  have  money  enough  ;  you 
must  take  this  ;  I  only  ask  you  to  conceal  these  clothes  in 
some  place  where  the  hell-hounds  of  the  law  can't  find  them. 
And  now,  good-by,  Mrs.  Buckley  ;  I  shall  take  care  that, 
whatever  may  happen  me,  you  shall  not  be  disturbed  out  of 
your  little  cabin  and  your  garden." 

I'he  tears  ran  down  the  poor  old  woman's  cheeks,  and 
Reilly  left  her  sobbing  and  crying  behind  him.  This  indeed 
was  an  eventful  day  to  him.  Strong  in  the  confidence  of  his 
disguise,  he  took  the  public  road,  and  had  not  gone  far  when 
he  met  a  party  of  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft's.  To  fly  would 
have  been  instant  ruin  ;  he  accordingly  commenced  an  old 
Irish  song  at  the  very  top  of  his  lungs.  Sir  Robert  White- 
craft  was  not  himself  of  the  party,  but  scarcely  any  individual 
was  met  by  them  whom  they  did  not  cross-examine. 

"  Hallo,  my  good  fellow,"  said  the  leader  of  the  party, 
*'  what  is  that  you're  singin'  ?  " 

Reilly  stared  at  him  like  a  man  who  was  sorely  puzzled  ; 
"ZTa  7ieil  hearla  agum  ;  "  that  is,  "  I  have  no  English." 

"  Here,  Connor,  you  can  speak  Irish  ;  sift  this  able-bodied 
tyke." 

A  conversation  in  that  language  then  took  place  between 
them  which  reflected  everlasting  honor  upon  Connor,  who,  by 
the  way,  was  one  of  Reilly's  tenants,  but  himself  and  his  pro- 
genitors were  Protestants  for  three  generations.     He  was  a 

13» 


194 


WILLY  RE  ILLY, 


sharp,  keen  man,  but  generous  and  honorable,  and  after  two 
or  three  glances  at  our  hero,  at  once  recognized  him.  This 
he  could  only  intimate  by  a  wink,  for  he  knew  that  there  were 
other  persons  there  who  spoke  Irish  as  well  as  either  of  them. 
The  dialogue,  however,  was  not  long,  neither  was  it  kind- 
hearted  Connor's  wish  that  it  should  be  so.  He  was  asked, 
however,  if  he  knew  anything  about  Willy  Reilly,  to  which  he 
replied  that  he  did  not,  only  by  all  accounts  he  had  left  the 
country.     This,  indeed,  was  the  general  opinion. 

"This  blockhead,"  said  Connor,  "knows  nothing  about 
him,  only  what  he  has  heard  ;  he's  a  pig  dealer,  and  is  now 
on  his  way  to  the  fair  of  Sligo  ;  come  on." 

They  passed  onwards,  and  Reilly  resumed  his  journey 
and  his  song. 

On  reaching  the  farmer's  house  where  he  and  the  bishop 
lodged,  the  unhappy  prelate  felt  rather  annoyed  at  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  stranger,  and  was  about  to  reprove  their  host 
for  his  carelessness  in  admitting  such  persons. 

"  What  do  you  want  here,  my  good  man  ? "  inquired  the 
farmer. 

"  Do  3'ou  wish  to  say  anything  to  me  ? "  asked  the  bishop. 

"  A  few  words,"  replied  Reilly  ;  but,  on  consideration,  he 
changed  his  purpose  of  playing  off  a  good-humored  joke  on 
his  lordship  and  the  farmer.  For  the  melancholy  prelate  he 
felt  the  deepest  compassion  and  respect,  and  apprehended 
that  any  tampering  with  his  feelings  might  be  attended  with 
dangerous  consequences  to  his  intellect.  He  consequently 
changed  his  purpose,  and  added,  "  My  lord,  don't  you  know 
me?" 

The  bishop  looked  at  him,  and  it  was  not  without  consid- 
erable scrutiny  that  he  recognized  him. 

In  the  mean  time  the  farmer,  who  had  left  the  room  pre- 
vious to  this  explanation,  and  who  looked  upon  Reilly  as  an 
impostor  or  a  spy,  returned  with  a  stout  oaken  cudgel,  ex- 
claiming, "  Now,  you  damned  desaver,  I  will  give  you  a 
jacketful  of  sore  bones  for  comin'  to  pry  about  here.  This 
gintleman  is  a  doctor  ;  three  of  my  family  are  lying  ill  of 
faver,  and  that  you  may  catch  it  I  pray  gorra  this  day  !  but 
if  you  won't  catch  that,  you'll  catch  this,"  and  he  whirled  the 
cudgel  about  his  head,  and  most  unquestionably  it  would 
have  descended  on  Reilly's  cranium  were  it  not  for  the  bishop, 
who  interposed  and  prevented  the  meditated  violence. 

"  Be  quiet,  Kelly,"  said  he,  *"  be  quiet,  sir  ;  this  is  Mr. 
Reilly  disguised.'' 


WTLLY  RETLLY. 


195 


"Troth,  I  must  look  closely  at  him  first,"  replied  Kelly  ; 
"  who  knows  but  he's  imposin'  upon  you,  Dr.  Wilson  ?  " 

Kelly  tlTen  looked  closely  into  his  face,  still  holding  a 
firm  grip  of  the  cudgel. 

"  Why,  Kelly,"  said  Reilly,  "  what  the  deuce  are  you  at  ? 
Don't  you  know  my  voice  at  least  ? " 

"  \Vell,"  replied  Kelly,  "  bad  luck  to  the  like  o'  that  ever 
I  see  Holy  Moses,  Mr.  Reilly,  but  you  had  a  narrow  es- 
cape. Devil  a  man  in  the  barony  can  handle  a  cudgel  as  I 
can,  and  it  was  a  miracle,  and  you  may  thank  his  lordship 
here  for  it  that  you  hadn't  a  shirtful  of  sore  bones." 

"  Well,  my  dear  friend,"  said  Reilly,  "  put  up  your  cudgel ; 
I  really  don't  covet  a  shirtful  of  soie  bones  ;  but,  after  all, 
perhaps  you  would  have  found  my  fist  a  match  for  your 
cudgel." 

"  Nonsense  !  "  replied  Kelly  ;  "  but  God  be  praised  that 
you  escaped  the  welting  anyhow  ;  I  would  never  forgive  my- 
self, and  you  the  friend  of  his  lordship." 

He  then  left  the  room,  his  terrific  cudgel  under  his  arm, 
and  Reilly,  after  his  absence,  related  to  the  bishop  the  events 
of  the  day,  involving,  as  they  did,  the  two  narrow  escapes 
which  he  had  had.  .  The  bishop  thanked  God,  and  told  Reilly 
to  be  of  good  courage,  for  that  he  thought  the  hand  of  Provi- 
dence was  protecting  him. 

Tiie  life  they  led  here  was,  at  all  events,  quiet  and  peace- 
able. The  bishop  was  a  man  of  singular,  indeed  of  apostolic, 
piety.  He  spent  most  of  the  day  in  meditation  and  prayer ; 
fasting  beyond  the  powers  of  his  enfeebled  constitution  :  and 
indeed  it  was  fortunate  that  Reilly  had  accompanied  him,  for 
so  ascetic  were  his  habits,  that  were  it  not  for  his  entreaties, 
and  the  influence  which  he  had  gained  over  him,  it  is  not  at 
all  unlikely  that  his  unfortunate  malady  might  have  returned. 
The  neighborhood  in  which  they  resided  was,  as  we  have 
said,  remote,  and  exclusively  Catholic  ;  and  upon  Sundays 
the  bishop  celebrated  mass  upon  a  little  grassy  platform — or 
rather  in  a  little  cave,  into  which  it  led.  This  cave  was 
small,  barely  large  enough  to  contain  a  table,  which  served  as 
a  temporary  altar,  the  poor  shivering  congregation  kneeling 
on  the  platform  outside.  At  this  period  of  our  story  all  the 
Catholic  chapels  and  places  of  worship  were,  as  we  have 
said,  closed  by  proclamation,  and  the  poor  people  were  de- 
prived of  the  means  of  meeting  to  worship  God.  It  had 
soon,  however,  become  known  to  them  that  an  opportunity  ( f 
public  worship  was  to  be  had  every  Sunday,  at  the  place  we 


196  WILLY  REILLY. 

have  described.  Messengers  had  been  sent  among  them 
with  information  to  that  effect ;  and  the  consequence  was 
that  they  not  only  kept  the  secret,  but  flocked  in  considerable 
numbers  to  attend  mass.  On  the  Sunday  following  the 
adoption  of  Reilly's  disguise,  the  bishop  and  he  proceeded  to 
the  little  cave,  or  rather  cleft,  where  a  table  had  been  placed, 
together  with  the  vestments  necessary  for  the  ceremony. 
They  found  about  two  or  three  hundred  persons  assembled — 
most  of  them  of  the  humblest  class.  The  day  was  stormy  in 
the  extreme.  It  was  a  hard  frost,  and  the  snow,  besides, 
falling  heavily,  the  wind  strong,  and  raging  in  hollow  gusts 
about  the  place.  The  position  of  the  table-altar,  however, 
saved  the  bishop  and  the  chalice,  and  the  other  matters  neces- 
sary for  the  performance  of  worship,  from  the  direct  fury  of 
the  blast,  but  not  altogether  ;  for  occasionally  a  whirlwind 
would  come  up,  and  toss  over  the  leaves  of  the  missal  in  such 
a  way,  and  with  such  violence,  that  the  bishop,  who  was  now 
trembling  from  the  cold,  was  obliged  to  lose  some  time  in 
finding  out  the  proper  passages.  It  was  a  solemn  sight  to  see 
two  or  three  hundred  persons  kneeling,  and  bent  in  prostrate 
and  heartfelt  adoration,  in  the  pious  worship  of  that  God  who 
sends  and  withholds  the  storm  ;  bareheaded,  too,  under  the 
piercing  drift  of  the  thick-falling  granular  snow,  and  thinking 
of  nothing  but  their  own  sins,  and  that  gladsome  opportunity 
of  approaching  the  forbidden  altar  of  God,  now  doubly  dear 
to  them  that  it  was  forbidden.  As  the  ceremony  was  pro- 
ceeding the  bishop  was  getting  on  to  that  portion  of  the  sacred 
rites  where  the  consecration  and  elevation  of  the  Host  are 
necessary,  and  it  was  observed  by  all  that  an  extraordinary 
and  sudden  lull  took  place,  and  that  the  rage  of  the  storm  had 
altogether  ceased.  He  proceeded,  and  had  consecrated  the 
Host — hoc  est  corpus  meum — when  a  cry  of  terror  arose  from 
the  affrighted  congregation. 

"  My  lord,  fly,  and  save  yourself  I  Captain  Smellpriest 
and  his  gang  are  upon  us." 

The  bishop  never  once  turned  round,  nor  seemed  to  hear 
them  ;  but  Reilly  did,  and  saw  that  the  whole  congregation 
had  fled,  and  that  there  only  remained  the  bishop  and  himself. 

"  Our  day  of  doom,"  said  he  to  himself,  "  is  come.  Noth- 
ing now  can  save  us." 

Stilf  the  bishop  proceeded  undisturbed  in  the  worship  of 
the  Almighty  ;  when,  lo !  the  military  party,  headed  and  led 
on  by  the  notorious  Captain  Smellpriest,  came  thundering  up, 
the  captain  exclaimino-: 


WILLY  REILLY.  197 

"You  idolatrous  Papist,  stop  that  mummery — or  vou  shall 
have  twelve  bullets  in  your  heart  before  half  a  minute's  lime." 
The  bishop  had  consecrated   the  Host,  as  we  have   said, 
but  had  not  yet  had  time  to  receive  it. 

"  Men,"  said  Smellpriest,  "  you  are  all  primed  and  loaded. 
Present." 

Thev  accordingly  did  so  ;  every  musket  was  levelled  at 
him.  The  bishop  now  turned  round,  and,  with  the  calmness 
of  a  martyr — a  calmness  and  conduct  that  were  sublime — he 
said  : 

•'Sir,  I  am  engaged  in  the  worship  of  the  Eternal  God, 
and  if  vou  wish  to'slied  my  blood  I  should  rather  it  were  here 
and  now  than  in  any  other  place.  Give  me  but  a  few  minutes 
— I  do  not  ask  more." 

"  Oh,"  said  Smellpriest,  "we  will  give  you  ten,  if  you  wish 
it,  and  the  mo  e  so  because  we  are  sure  of  you." 

When  the  bishop  turned  round  again,  after  having  received 
the  Host,  his  pale  face  had  altogether  changed  its  complexion 
— it  burned  with  an  expression  which  it  is  difficult  to  describe. 
A  lofty  sense  of  the  sacrifice  he  was  about  to  make  was  visi- 
ble in  his  kindling  and  enthusiastic  eye;  his  feeble  frame, 
that  had  been,  during  the  ceremony  of  mass,  shivering  under 
the  effects  of  the  terrible  storm  that  howled  around  them,  now 
became  firm,  and  not  the  slightest  mark  of  fear  or  terror  was 
visible  in  his  bearing  ;  calmly  and  undauntedly  he  turned 
round,  and  with  a  voice  full  and  steady  he  said  : 

"  I  am  willing  to  die  for  my  religion,  but  I  say  to  you  that 
the  slaughter  of  an  inoffensive  man  at  the  foot  of  God's  altar 
will  not  smooth  the  pillow  of  your  deathbed,  nor  of  those  who 
shoot  down  a  minister  of  God  while  in  the  act  of  worshipping 
his  Creator.  My  congregation,  poor  timid  creatures,  have 
tied,  but  as  for  me,  I  will  not  1  I  dare  not  1  Here,  now,  I 
spread  out  my  arms — fire  !  " 

'•  I  also,"  said  Reilly,  "  will  partake  of  whatever  fate  may 
befall  the  venerable  clergyman  who  is  before  you,"  and  he 
stood  up  side  by  side  with  the  bishop. 

The  guns  were  still  levelled,  the  fingers  of  the  men  on  the 
triggers,  when  Siiiellpriest   shouted  out,  "  Ground  arms  !     By 

,"  says  he,  "  here  is   a   new  case  ;  this  fellow  has  spunk 

and  courage,  and  curse  me,  although  I  give  the  priests  a  chase 
wherever  I  can,  still  I  am  a  soldier,  and  a  man  of  courage, 
and  to  shoot  down  a  priest  in  the  worship  of  God  would  be 
cowardly.  No,  I  can't  do  it — nor  I  won't  ;  I  like  pluck,  and 
this  priest  has  shown  it.     Had  he  taken  to  his  heels,  by , 


I  q8  will  y  HE  ILL  V. 

he  would  have  had  half  a  dozen  bullets  in  his  rear ;  but,  as  I 
said,  I  like  pluck,  and  on   that  account  we   shall  pass  him  by 

this  time.     To  the  right  about.     As  to  the  clerk,  by ,  he 

has  shown  pluck  too,  but  be  hanged  to  him,  what  do  we  care 
about  /lim  /  " 

We  must  say  a  word  or  two  here  about  Smellpriest.  He 
was,  in  the  true  sense  of  the  word-,  a  pjiest-hunter  ;  but  yet, 
with  all  his  bigotry,  he  was  a  brave  man,  and  could  appreciate 
courage  wherever  he  found  it.  Tiie  reader  already  knows 
that  his  range  of  persecution  was  by  no  means  either  so  wide 
or  so  comprehensive  as  that  of  the  coward  Whitecraft.  He 
was  a  dashing,  outspoken  fellow,  with  an  equal  portion  of 
boisterous  folly  and  mischief  ;  whereas  Whitecraft  was  a  per- 
fect snake — treacherous,  cruel,  persevering  in  his  enmity,  and 
unrelenting  in  his  vengeance.  Such  was  the  difference  in  the 
character  of  these  two  worthies. 

After  Smellpriest  had  drawn  off  his  men,  the  bishop  con- 
cluded the  ceremony  of  the  mass  ;  but  when  he  turned  romid 
to  announce  its  conclusion  in  the  words,  ife,  missa  est,  there 
was  not  a  soul  before  him,  the  terrified  congregation,  as  we 
have  said,  having  all  betaken  themselves  to  flight.  Reilly 
then  assisted  him  to  unrobe,  and  placed  the  vestn)ents,  the 
chalice,  pix.  and  everything  connected  with  the  ceremony,  in 
a  pair  of  saddle-bags,  which  belonged  to  the  parish  priest, 
whose  altar  was  then  closed,  as  we  said,  by  proclamation. 

Reilly  and  the  bishop  then  proceeded  to  the  farmer's 
house,  Reilly  carrying  the  saddle-bags,  and  as  they  went 
along  the  following  conversation  took  place  between  them  : 

"  My  lord,"  said  his  companion,  "  if  I  might  presume  to 
advise  you,  I  think  it  would  be  more  prudent  for  you  to  retire 
to  the  Continent  for  a  time.  This  ferocious  captain,  who, 
subdued  by  the  sublime  tenor  of  your  conduct,  spared  you  on 
this  occasion,  may  not  under  other  and  less  impressive  cir- 
cumstances, exercise  a  similar  forbearance." 

"But,  my  dear  Reilly,"  replied  the  bishop,  in  a  tone  of 
deep  melancholy,  "  I  am  not  in  circumstances  to  go  to  the 
Continent  ;  I  am  poor  ;  most  of  my  available  money  I  have 
distributed  among  the  unhappy  people,  until  I  am  now  nearly 
as  poor  as  themselves  ;  but,  independently  of  that,  I  do  not 
think  it  would  be  right  to  abandon  the  charge  which  God  has 
entrusted  to  my  keeping.  The  shepherd  should  not  desert 
his  flock,  especially  in  the  moment  of  danger,  whun  the  wolves 
are  a  bio  id  " 

"  Bui,  my   lord,"  replied  Reilly,  *'  under   the   present   cir- 


WILLY  KEILLY.  igg 

cumstances  of  the  country  your  residence  here  can  be  of  no 
service  to  them.  The  chapels  are  all  closed,  and  public  wor- 
ship forbidden  by  law.  This  cannot,  and,  I  hope,  will  not, 
last  long  ;  but  in  the  mean  time,  think  if  it  be  not  wiser  in  you 
to  go  for  a  time  into  what  I  may  call  a  voluntary  exile,  than 
be  forced  into  banishmtint  by  a  cruel  edict  of  the  law,  as  you 
will  be  if  you  should  be  discovered." 

"  There  is  great  truth  in  what  you  say,  my  dear  Reilly, 
and  on  thinking  over  the  circumstances  of  the  country,  I  am 
indeed  of  opinion  that  your  advice  is  good;  but,  unfortunately, 
my  present  poverty  prevents  me  from  acting  on  it." 

"  But  that  shall  not  be,  my  lord  ;  I  have  the  means — am- 
ply, too — of  enabling  your  lordship  to  withdraw  to  the  Conti- 
nent, where  you  can  remain  quite  safe  until  better  times  re- 
turn, as  I  hope  in  God  they  will  soon." 

"  And  yourself,  Reilly  ?  why  not  accompany  me  ?  You, 
it  is  said,  are  outlawed  ;  why  then  remain  in  a  country  where 
your  danger  is  still  greater  than  mine  ?  " 

"My  lord,"  re]:)l  ;d  Reilly,  "do  not  press  me  on  that 
subject." 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  do  so,  Reilly  ;  but  here  are  the  circum- 
stances :  you  and  the  beautiful  daughter  of  that  old  squire 
are  attached — in  other  words,  you  love  each  other  passion- 
ately. Now,  you  know,  marriage  is  impossible,  unless  you 
should  abandon  the  creed  of  your  fathers." 

"  I  think,  my  lord,"  replied  Reilly,  in  a  very  serious  and 
somewhat  offended  tone,  "  that  my  conduct  this  day,  and 
within  the  last  half  hour,  was  not  that  of  a  man  likely  to 
abandon  the  creed  of  his  fathers." 

"  Certainly  not — most  certainly  not,"  salid  the  bishop.  "  I 
would  have  died  this  day  for  my  religion,  and  so  would  you." 

"  And  so  would  I  certainly,  my  lord,  any  day,  sooner  than 
renounce  it  for  the  love  of  woman.  So  far  let  your  lordship's 
mind  be  at  rest.  But  in  the  mean  time,  let  me  impress  upon 
your  lordship's  consideration  the  absolute  necessity  of  retiring 
to  the  Continent  for  a  time.  Your  lordship's  charity  has 
made  you  poor  ;  but,  thank  God,  I  am  not  poor — but  in  a 
position  to  place  ;^2oo  in  your  hands  to  enable  you  to  bear 
the  expenses  of  your  voyage,  and  to  maintain  your  ecclesias- 
tical rank  and  position  for  a  time,  when  yon  get  there." 

"  Oh."  replied  the  bishop,  "  if  I  were  once  there.  \rry 
little  money  would  be  necessary;  I  could  almost  immediately 

fet  a   professorship   of   divinity,  especially  in   the  College  of 
.ouvain,  where  I  held  a  professorship  for  several  years." 


2  OO  WILL  V  RE  ILL  Y. 

It  was  arranged  that  the  bishop  should  go,  at  least  until 
the  times  should  change,  and  in  the  course  of  a  week,  Reilly 
having  furnished  him  with  the  necessary  funds,  he  departed 
and  reached  the  Continent  in  safety. 

Their  separation  was  extremely  affecting.  The  bishop 
wept  bitterly,  not  only  in  consequence  of  his  parting  with 
Reilly,  but  still  more  because  he  was  forced  to  separate  him- 
self from  his  flock.  Reilly  was  deeply  affected,  nor  could  he 
restrain  his  tears.  The  bishop  put  his  hand  on  his  head  and 
blessed  him.  "  I  feel,"  said  he,  "'  as  if  it  were  a  prophetic  im- 
pulse, that  God  will  bring  you  out  of  the  tribulations  that  en- 
compass you.  Forget  not  his  word  nor  his  law  ;  love  and 
adhere  to  your  religion  ;  be  guided  by  its  precepts,  let  them 
sink  deeply  into  your  heart.  Take  care,  also,  that  the  love 
of  woman  shall  not  seduce  you  from  your  allegiance  to  our 
Church.  And  now,  may  the  Almighty  God  bless  and  protect 
you,  and  rescue  you  from  the  hands  and  the  snares  of  your 
enemies  !  "     And  so  they  parted. 

No  stronger  proof  could  exist,  so  far  as  the  Cooleen  Bawn 
was  concerned,  than  her  extraordinary  power  of  conciliating 
love  and  attachment  from  all  who  approached  her,  or  were 
engaged  in  attending  upon  her  person.  The  singular  soft- 
ness of  her  sweet  and  mellow  voice  was  in  itself  an  exponent 
of  the  remarkable  suavity  and  benignity  of  her  disposition. 
In  fact  she  carried  a  charm  about  her — an  atmosphere  of 
kindness  and  benevolence  that  no  human  being  who  came 
within  its  influence  could  resist.  Her  smile  was  a  perfect 
fascination,  which,  in  addition  to  her  elegance  of  form — her 
grace  and  harmony  of  motion — her  extensive  charity — her 
noble  liberality  of  sentiment — and,  above  all,  her  dazzling 
beauty,  constituted  a  character  which  encircled  her  with  ad- 
miration and  something  almost  bordering  on  worship. 

At  this  time  a  scheme  came  into  the  fertile  brain  of 
Whitecraft,  worthy  of  being  concocted  only  in  the  infernal 
pit  itself.  This  was  to  prevail  on  the  squire  to  remove  her 
faithful,  attached,  and  confidential  maid,  Ellen  Connor,  from 
about  her  person,  under  the  plea  that  as,  unfortunately,  Miss 
FoUiard  had  been  seduced  into  an  affection  for  Reilly,  it  was 
not  only  probable  that  her  attendant  had  originated  and  en- 
couraged her  passion,  but  that  it  was  also  likely  that,  as  Reilly 
was  a  Catholic,  Connor,  the  confidant,  being  herself  of  that 
persuasion,  might  so  work  upon  the  feelings  and  principles  of 
his  daughter  as  to  induce  her,  for  the  sake  of  the  more  easily 
bringing  about  their  marriage,  to  abandon  her  own  reli^ioUi 


WILL  Y  RE  ILL  Y.  2  O I 

and  embrace  that  of  her  lover.  The  old  man  became  in- 
stantly alarmed,  and,  with  his  usually  fiery  impetuosity,  lost 
not  a  moment  in  dismissing  her  altogether  from  his  family. 

When  this  faithful  girl  found  that  she  was  about  to  be  sep- 
arated from  her  fair  and  affectionate  young  mistress,  no  lan- 
guage could  depict  the  violence  of  her  grief,  nor  could  that 
mistress  herself  refuse  the  tribute  of  her  tears  to  her  sense  of 
the  loss  which  she  knew  she  must  sustain  by  her  absence  at 
a  crisis  when  she  stood  so  much  in  need  of  her  friendship 
and  attachment. 

*'  Oh  !  it  is  not  for  myself,  my  dear  mistress,  that  1  feel 
this  grief,"  exclaimed  Connor,  weeping  bitterly  as  she  spoke, 
"  but  for  you.  Here  you  will  be  alone,"  she  proceeded, 
"without  one  being  on  whom  you  can  depend,  or  to  whom 
you  can  open  your  heart — for  many  a  time  you  eased  that 
poor  heart  by  telling  me  of  your  love  for  him,  and  by  dwellin' 
upon  his  accomplishments  and  beauty — and,  indeed,  it's  no 
wonder  you  should,  for  where,  oh  !  where  is  his  aiquil  to  be 
found  ?  Like  yourself,  every  one  that  comes  near  him  must 
love  him  ;  and,  like  you,  again,  isn't  he  charity  itself  to  the 
poor,  no  matter  what  their  creed  may  be — oh,  no  ;  it's  he  that 
is  neither  the  bigot  nor  the  oppressor,  although  God  knows 
what  he  himself  is  sufferin'  from  both.  God's  curse  on  that 
blasted  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft !  I  declare  to  mercy,  I  think, 
if  I  was  a  man,  that  I'd  shoot  him,  like  a  mad  dog,  and  free 
the  country  of  him  at  wanst." 

The  Cooleen  was  herself  in  tears,  occasioned  by  such  a 
glowing  picture  of  her  lover,  as  well  as  by  the  loss  of  this 
faithful  and  devoted  girl.  Yet  she  could  not  repress  a  smile 
at  the  indignation  expressed  by  Ellen  against  the  man  whom 
she  looked  upon  with  such  detestation  and  abhorrence. 

"  My  dear  Ellen,"  said  she,  drying  her  tears,  "  we  must 
only  have  patience.  Everything  is  in  the  hands  of  God,  and 
in  him  let  us  trust.  Do  not  weep  so.  It  is  true  that,  without 
your  society,  I  shall  feel  as  if  I  were  in  a  desert,  or  rather,  I 
should  say,  in  a  dungeon  ;  for,  indeed,  I  fear  that  I  am  about 
to  become  a  prisoner  in  my  father's  house,  and  entangled 
more  and  more  every  day  in  the  meshes  of  that  detestable 
villain.  In  the  mean  time,  we  must,  as  I  said,  have  courage 
and  patience,  and  trust  to  the  change  of  circumstances  for 
better  times." 

"  May  the  Lord  in  heaven  grant  them  soon  and  sudden, 
for  both  your  sakes,"  ejaculated  Ellen,  "  I  pray  the  Saviour 
that  he  may  !  " 


202  ^/^^  y  REILL  Y. 

'' But,  Ellen,"  said  the  Cooleen,  "didn't  you  hint  to  me 
once  or  twice,  that  you  yourself  have,  or  had,  a  lover  named 
Reillv  ?  " 

"  I  did,"  she  replied,  "  not  that  I  have,  but  that  I  had— 
and,  what  is  more,  an  humble  and  distant  relation  of  his." 

"  You  say  you  had.  What  do  you  mean  by  that,  Ellen  ? 
Have  you,  too,  experienced  your  crosses  and  calamities  ?  " 

"Indeed,  ma'am,  I  have' had  my  share  ;  and  I  know  too 
well  what  it  is  to  have  the  heart  within  as  full  of  sorrow,  and 
all  but  broken." 

"  Why,  my  poor  girl,  and  have  you  too  experienced  disap- 
pointment and  afifliction  ?  ". 

"God,  ma'am,  has  given  me  my  share  •,  but,  in  my  case 
the  affliction  was  greater  than  the  disappointment,  although 
that  too  came  soon  enough  upon  me." 

"  Why,  did  not  the  affliction,  in  your  case,  proceed  from 
the  disappointment  ? " 

"  Not  exactly,  miss,  but  indeed  partly  it  did.  It's  but  a 
short  story,  my  dear  mistress,  and  I'll  tell  it  to  you.  Fergus 
is  his  name— Fergus  O'Reilly.  His  father,  for  doin'  some- 
thing or  other  contrary  to  the  laws — harborin'  some  outlaw, 
I  believe,  that  was  a  relation  of  his  own,  and  who  was  found 
by  the  army  in  his  house — well,  his  father,  a  very  ould  man, 
was  taken  prisoner,  and  put  into  jail,  where  he  died  before 
they  could  try  him  ;  and  well  it  was  he  did  so,  for  by  all  ac- 
counts, they'd  have  transported  or  hanged  the  poor  ould  man, 
who  was  then  past  seventy.  Now,  over  and  above  that,  they'd 
have  done  the  same  thing  with  his  son  Fergus,  but  that  he 
disappeared  and  but  few  knows  what  became  of  him." 

"  Why,  did  he  go  without  having  had  an  interview  with 
you  ?  "  asked  the  Cooleen. 

"  Indeed  he  did,  miss,  and  small  blame  to  him  ;  for  the 
truth  is,  he  had  little  time  for  leavetakin' — it  was  as  much  as 
he  could  do  to  make  his  escape,  which,  thank  God,  he  did. 
But,  indeed,  I  oughtn't  to  thank  God  for  it,  I  doubt,  because 
it  would  have  been  better,  and  ten  times  more  creditable  to 
himself,  if  he  had  been  transported,  or  hanged  itself — for 
that,  ma'am,  is  many  a  good  man's  case,  as  every  one  knows." 

"  I  agree  with  you,  Ellen.  There  is,  indeed,  a  most  essen- 
tial difference  between  flagitious  crimes,  such  as  theft,  rob- 
bery, murder,  and  other  dreadful  outrages  of  that  character, 
and  those  which  may  be  termed  offences  arising  from  politi- 
cal opinions,  which  are  often  honestly  entertained  by  individ- 
uals who,  in  all  the  relations  of  life,  are  sometimes  the  most 


WILL  V  REILL  Y.  203 

exemplary  members  of  society.     But  proceed,  Ellen — what 

was  the  result  ?  " 

Poor  Ellen's  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  she  could  scarcely 
summon  composure  enough  to  reply  : 

"Worse  than  transportation  or  even  death,  my  dear  mis- 
tress ;  oh  !  far  worse — guilt  and  crime.  Yes  :  he  that  had 
gained  my  affections,  and  gave  me  his,  joined  the  Red  Rap- 
paree  and  his  gang,  and  became — a  robber.  I  was  goin'  to 
say  an  outlaw,  but  he  was  that  before  he  joined  them,  because 
he  wouldn't  submit  to  the  laws — that  is,  wouldn't  submit  to 
be  transported,  or  maybe  hanged — or  you  know,  ma'am,  how 
little  a  thing  it  is  that  will  either  hang  or  transport  any  one 
of  our  unfortunate  creed  now." 

"  Alas  !  my  dear  Ellen,  you  forget  that  I  am  a  living  wit- 
ness of  it,  and  an  afflicted  one  ;  but  proceed.  Have  you  ever 
seen  your  lover  since  }  " 

"  1  did,  ma'am,  but  at  that  time  he  mentioned  nothing 
about  his  havin'  joined  the  Rapparees.  He  came,  he  said, 
to  bid  me  farewell,  and  to  tell  me  that  he  wasn't  worthy  of 
me.  '  The  stain  that's  upon  me,'  said  he,  '  draws  a  gulf  be- 
tween you  and  me  that  neither  of  us  can  ever  pass.'  He 
could  scarcely  speak,  but  he  dashed  away  the  tears  that  came 
to  his  eyes — and — and — so  he  took  his  departure.  Now,  my 
dear  young  mistress,  you  see  how  well  I  can  understand  your 
case,  and  the  good  reason  I  have  to  feel  for  you,  as  I  do,  and 
ever  will,  until  God  in  his  mercy  may  set  you  both  free  from 
what  you're  sufferin'," 

"  But,  are  you  certain,  Ellen,  that  he  actually  has  joined 
the  Rapparees  ? " 

"  Too  sure  ma'am — too  sure  ;  my  father  had  it  in  private 
from  his  own  lips,  for,  as  the  poor  boy  said,  he  hadn't  the 
courage  himself  to  tell  me." 

"  But,  Ellen,"  asked  Miss  Folliard,  "where  had  you  an 
opportunity  of  seeing  and  becoming  acquainted  with  this 
young  man  ?  You  surely  could  not  have  known  him,  or  con- 
ceived an  attachment  for  him,  previous  to  your  coming  to 
reside  with  us  ?  " 

"Oh,  no,  ma'am,"  replied  Ellen  ;  "  it  was  at  my  father's  I 
became  acquainted  with  him,  principally  whenever  I  got  leave 
to  spend  a  Sunday  at  home.  And  now,  my  dear  mistress," 
she  proceeded  sobbing,  "  I  must  go — your  poor,  faithful  Ellen 
will  never  let  you,  nor  the  thought  of  your  sorrows,  out  of  her 
heart.  All  she  can  do  now  is  to  give  you  her  prayers  and  her 
tears.     Farewell !  my  darlin'  mistress — may  the  blessing  of 


2  04 


IVILL  y  REILL  Y. 


God  guard  and  prosper  you  both,  and  bring  you  to   the  hap- 
piness you  deserve."     She  wept  bitterly  as  she  concluded. 

"  Ellen,"  replied  her  mistress,  and  she  paused — "  Ellen," 
said  she  again — she  would,  indeed,  have  spoken,  but,  after  a 
silent  struggle,  she  covered  her  eyes  with  her  handkerchief, 
and  was  fairly  carried  away  by  her  emotions — "  Ellen,"  said 
she,  taking  her  hand,  and  recovering  herself,  "  be  of  courage ; 
let  neither  of  us  despair — a  brighter  light  may  shine  on  our 
path  yet.  Perhaps  I  may  have  it  in  my  power  to  befriend 
you,  hereafter.  Farewell,  Ellen  ;  and  if  I  can  prevail  on  ray 
father  to  bring  you  back,  I  will."     And  so  they  parted. 

Connor's  father  was  a  tenant  of  the  squire's,  and  held 
rather  a  comfortable  farm  of  about  eighteen  or  twenty  acres. 
Ellen  herself  had,  when  very  young,  been,  by  some  accident 
or  other,  brought  within  the  notice  of  Mrs.  Folliard,  who, 
having  been  struck  by  her  vivacity,  neatness  of  figure,  and 
good  looks,  begged  permission  from  her  parents  to  take  the 
little  girl  under  her  care,  and  train  her  up  to  wait  upon  her 
daughter.  She  had  now  been  eight  years  in  the  squire's 
family — that  is,  since  her  fourteenth — and  was  only  two  years 
older  than  the  Cooleen  Bman,  who  was  now,  and  had  been  for 
the  last  three  years,  her  only  mistress.  She  had  consequently 
grown,  as  it  were,  into  all  her  habits,  and  we  may  justly  say 
that  there  was  not  an  individual  in  existence  who  had  a  better 
opportunity  of  knowing  and  appreciating  her  good  qualities 
and  virtues  ;  and,  what  was  much  to  her  honor,  she  never  for 
a  moment  obtruded  her  own  private  sorrows  upon  the  ear  or 
heart  of  her  mistress,  who,  she  saw,  had  a  sufficient  number 
of  her  own  to  bear. 

It  was  late  in  the  evening  when  she  took  a  farewell  of  her 
mistress,  and  twilight  came  on  ere  she  had  got  within  half  a 
mile  of  her  father's  house.  On  crossing  a  style  which  led,  by 
a  pathway,  to  the  little  hamlet  in  which  her  father  lived,  she 
was  both  surprised  and  startled  by  perceiving  Fergus  Reilly 
approach  her.  He  was  then  out  of  his  disguise,  and  dressed 
in  his  own  clothes,  for  he  could  not  prevail  upon  himself  to 
approach  her  father's  house,  or  appear  before  any  of  the 
family,  in  the  tattered  garb  of  a  mendicant.  On  this  occasion 
he  came  to  tell  them  that  he  had  abandoned  the  gang  of  the 
Red  Rapparee,  and  come  to  the  resolution  of  seeking  his 
pardon  from  the  Government,  having  been  informed  that  it 
offered  protection  to  all  who  would  come  in  and  submit  to 
the  lavs,  provided  they  had  not  been  guilty  of  shedding 
human  blood.    This  intelligence,  however,  was  communicated 


il'ILL  Y  REILL  Y. 


205 


to  the  family,  as  a  means  for  preparing  them  for  still  more 
important  information  upon  the  subject  of  his  own  liberty — a 
matter  with  which  the  reader  will  soon  become  acquainted,  as 
he  will  with  the  fact  of  his  having  left  off  his  disguise  only 
for  a  brief  period.  In  the  mean  time,  he  felt  perfectly  con- 
scious of  the  risk  he  ran  of  a  failure  in  the  accomplishment 
of  his  own  project,  by  throwing  off  his  disguise,  and  was  then 
hastening  on  his  way  to  the  cottage  of  widow  Buckley,  where 
he  had  left  his  mendicant  apparel  for  the  time  being. 

When  Ellen  saw  him  she  felt  a  tumult  in  her  bosom  which 
almost  overcame  her.  Her  heart  palpitated  almost  audibl}', 
and  her  knees  became  feeble  under  her.  There  was  something 
so  terrible  associated  with  the  idea  of  a  Rapparee  that  she 
took  it  for  granted  that  some  frightful  transformation  of  per- 
son and  character  must  have  taken  place  in  him,  and  that  she 
would  now  meet  a  man  thoroughly  imbued  with  all  the  fright- 
ful and  savage  vices  which  were  so  frequently,  and  too  often 
so  generally,  attributed  to  that  fierce  and  formidable  class. 
Still,  the  recollection  of  their  former  affection  and  her  knowl- 
edge of  the  oppression  which  had  come  upon  himself  and  his 
family,  induced  her  to  hope  that  the  principles  of  humanity 
could  not  have  been  altogether  effaced  from  his  heart.  Full 
of  doubt  and  anxiety,  therefore,  she  paused  at  the  stile,  against 
which  she  felt  it  necessary  to  lean  for  support,  not  without  a 
touch  of  interest  and  somewhat  of  curiosity,  to  control  the 
vague  apprehensions  which  she  could  not  help  feeling.  We 
need  scarcely  inform  the  reader  that  the  meeting  on  both 
sides  was  accidental  and  unexpected. 

"  Heaveiily  Father  !  "  exclaimed  Ellen,  in  a  voice  trembling 
with  agitation,  "is  this  Fergus  O'Reilly  that  I  see  before  me.^ 
Fergus,  ruined  and  undone  ?  "  She  then  looked  cautiously 
about  her,  and  added,  "Fergus,  the Rappafcc!'''' 

"  God  bless  me  I  "  he  exclaimed  in  return,  "  and  may  I  ask, 
is  this  Ellen  Connor  in  my  path  }  " 

"  Well,  I  think  I  may  say  so,  in  one  sense.  Sure  enough, 
I  am  Ellen  Connor;  but, unfortunately,  not  the  Ellen  Connor 
\.\\-x\.you  wanst  knew  ;  neither,  unfortunately  again,  are  you  the 
Fergus  O'Reilly  that  /wanst  knew.  We  are  both  changed, 
Fergus — I  into  sorrow  and  you  into  crime." 

"  Ellen,"  said  he,  nearly  as  much  agitated  as  herself,  "  I 
stand  before  you  simply  as  Fergus  O'Reilly,  but  not  Fergus, 
the  Rapparee." 

"  You  will  not  deny  your  own  words  to  my  father,"  she 
replied. 


20^  WILLY  RF.ILL\. 

"  No,  Ellen,  I  will  not — they  were  true  ihev,  hut,  thank 
God,  they  are  not  true  now.'''' 

"  How  is  that,  Fergus  ? " 

"  Simply  because  1  was  a  Rapparee  when  I  spoke  to  your 
father  ;  but  I  have  left  them,  once  and  forever." 

"  How  long  have  you  left  them  ?  " 

"  Ever  since  that  night.  If  it  were  not  for  Reilly  and 
those  that  were  out  with  him  duck-shooting,  the  red  villain 
would  have  murdered  the  squire  and  Andy  Cummiskey,  as 
sure  as  there's  life  in  my  body.  After  all,  it  is  owin'  to 
Mr.  Reilly  that  I  left  him  and  his  cursed  crew.  And  now, 
Ellen,  that  I  have  met  you,  let  me  spake  to  you  about  ould 
times.  In  the  first  place,  I  am  heart  sorry  for  the  step  I  took  ; 
but  you  know  it  was  oppression  and  persecution  that  drove 
me  to  it." 

"  Fergus,"  she  replied,  "  that's  no  excuse.  Persecution 
may  come  upon  us,  but  that's  no  reason  why  we  should  allow 
it  to  drive  us  into  evil  and  crime.  Don't  you  know  that  it's 
such  conduct  that  justifies  the  persecuters  in  their  own  eyes 
and  in  the  eyes  of  the  world.  What  will  become  of  you  now.-* 
If  you're  caught,  you  must  die  a  shameful  death." 

•  "  Devil  a  fear  of  it,  my  darlin'  Ellen.  I  could  tell  you 
something,  if  I  thought  myself  at  liberty  to  do  so — something, 
mavounieen,  that  'ud  give  you  a  light  heart." 

"  Indeed,  Fergus,  I  don't  wish  to  hear  any  of  your  secrets. 
It's  my  opinion  that  th^y  would  not  be  fit  for  me  to  hear. 
But  in  the  mane  time,"  she  added — prompted  by  the  undying 
principle  of  female  curiosity,  and,  let  us  add,  a  better  and 
more  generous  feeling — "in  the  mane  time,  Fergus,  if  it's  any- 
thing about  yourself,  and  that  it  would  give  me  a  light  heart, 
as  you  say  it  would,  and  that  there  is  nothing  wrong  and  dis- 
honorable in  it,  I  yNOu\d,  for  your  sake,  be  glad  to  hear  it." 

"  Well,  then,  Ellen,  I  will  tell  it ;  but  it  must,  for  reasons 
that  there's  no  use  in  mentionin'  to  you,  be  a  secret  between 
us  for  some  time — not  a  long  time,  I  hope.  I  am,  thank  God, 
free  as  the  air  of  Heaven,  and  may  walk  abroad,  openly,  in 
the  face  of  day,  if  I  like,  without  anyone  darin'  to  ask  me  a 
question." 

'*  But,  Fergus,"  said  Ellen,  "  I  don't  undherstand  this. 
You  were  a  robber — a  Rapparee — and  now  you  are  a  free 
man.  But  what  did  you  do  to  deserve  this  at  the  hands  of 
the  Government?" 

"  Don't  be  alarmed,  my  darlin'  Ellen — nothing  unbecomin* 
an  honest  man." 


WILL  y  REILL  Y. 


207 


"  I  hope,"'  she  proceeded — her  checks  mantling  with  in- 
dignation and  scorn — "  I  hope,  Fergus,  you  wouldn't  think  of 
stoopin'  to  treachery  against  the  unfortunate,  aye,  or  even 
against  the  guilty.  I  hope  you  wouldn't  sell  yourself  to  the 
Government,  and  get  your  liberty,  after  all,  only  as  a  bribe 
for  villany,  instead  of  a  free  gift." 

"  See,  now,"  he  returned,  "  what  I  have  brought  on  myself 
by  tellin'  you  anything  at  all  about  it — a  regular  ould  house 
on  my  shouldhers.  No,  darlin',  "  he  proceeded,  "you  ought 
to  know  me  better." 

"  Oh,  Fergus,"  she  replied  quickly,  "  I  thought  I  knew 
you  wanst." 

"  Is  that  generous,  Ellen  ? "  he  said,  in  a  tone  of  deep 
and  melancholy  feeling,  "  afther  statin'  my  sorrow  for  that 
step  ? " 

"  Well,"  she  replied,  moved  by  what  she  saw  he  suffered 
in  consequence  of  her  words,  "  if  I  have  given  you  pain,  Fer- 
gus, forgive  me — you  know  it's  not  in  my  nature  to  give  pain 
to  any  one,  but  above  all  persons  in  the  world,  to  you." 

"  Well,  darlin',"  said  he,  "  you  will  know  all  in  time  ;  but 
there  is  a  good  deal  to  be  done  yet.  All  I  can  say,  and  all  I 
will  say,  is,  that  if  God  spares  me  life,  I  will  tak';^  away  one  of 
the  blackest  enemies  that  Willy  Reilly  and  the  Cooken  Bawn 
has  in  existence.  He  would  do  anything  that  the  villain  of 
perdition  he's  a  slave  to  would  bid  him.  Now,  Fll  say  no 
more  ;  and  Fm  sure,  as  the  friend  of  your  beautiful  mistress, 
the  fair  Cooken  Bma/i,  you'll  thank  me  for  what  I  have  prom- 
ised to  do  against  the  Red  Rapparee." 

"I  will  pry  no  further  into  your  affairs  or  intentions,  Fer- 
gus ;  but,  if  you  can  take  danger  out  of  the  way  of  the  Coolcen 
Bcnvn  or  Reilly,  I  will  forgive  you  a  great  deal — everything, 
indeed,  but  treachery  or  dishonor.  But,  Fergus,  I  have  some- 
thing to  mention  that  will  take  a  start  out  of  you.  I  have 
been  discharged  by  the  squire  from  his  family,  and — mavrone, 
oh  ! — I  can  now  be  of  no  service  to  the  Cooken  Bawn." 

"Discharged!"  replied  Fergus  with  astonishment;  "why, 
how  did  that  come  ?  But  I  suppose  I  needn't  ask — sonic  of 
the  mad  old  Squire's  tantrums,  I  suppose?  And  what  did 
the  Cooken  Bawn  herself  say  ? " 

"Why,  she  cried  bitterly  when  I  was  lavin'  her;  indeed  if 
I  had  been  her  sister  she  couldn't  feel  more  ;  and,  as  might 
be  expected  from  her,  she  promised  to  befriend  me  as  long 
as  she  had  it  in  her  power ;  but,  poor  thing,  if  matters  go 
against  her,  as  Fm  afeared  they  will — if  she's  forced  to  marry 


2o8  WILLY  REILLY. 

that  villain,  it's  little  for  anything  that's  either  good  or  gene^ 
ous  ever  she'll  have  in  her  power  ;  but  marry  him  she  never 
will.  I  heard  her  say  more  than  wanst  that  she'd  take  her 
own  life  first ;  and  indeed  I'm  sartin  she  will,  too,  if  she's 
forced  to  it.  Either  that,  or  she'll  loose  her  senses ;  for,  in- 
deed, Fergus,  the  darlin'  girl  was  near  losin'  them  wanst  or 
twic't  as  it  is — may  God  pity  and  relieve  her." 

"  Amen,"  replied  Fergus.  "  And  you're  now  on  your  way 
home,  I  suppose  .''  " 

"  I  am,"  said  Ellen.  "  and  everything  belongin'  to  me  is 
to  be  sent  to  my  father's  ,  but  indeed,  Fergus,  I  don't  much 
care  now  what  becomes  of  me.  My  happiness  in  this  world 
is  bound  up  in  hers ;  and  if  she's  to  be  sunk  in  grief  and  sor- 
row, I  can  never  be  otherwise — we'll  have  the  one  fate,  Fer- 
gus, and  God  grant  it  may  be  a  happy  one,  although  I  see  no 
likelihood  of  it." 

"Come,  come,  Ellen,"  replied  Fergus,  "you  think  too 
much  of  it.  The  one  fate  !  No,  you  won't,  unless  it  is  a 
happy  one.  I  am  now  free,  as  I  said  ;  and  at  present  I  see 
nothing  to  stand  between  your  happiness  and  mine.  We 
loved  one  another  every  bit  as  well  as  Reilly  and  she  does — 
ay,  and  do  still,  I  hope ;  and  if  they  can't  be  happy,  that's  no 
raison  why  you  and  I  shouldn't.  Happy !  There's  nothing 
to  prevent  us  from  bein'  so.  I  am  free,  as  I  said  ;  and  all  we 
have  to  do  is  to  lave  this  unfortunate  country  and  go  to  some 
other,  where  there's  neither  oppression  nor  persecution.  If 
you  consent  to  this,  Ellen,  I  can  get  the  means  of  bringing  us 
away,  and  of  scttlin'  comfortably  in  America." 

"And  I  to  leave  the  Cooleen  Bawn  in  the  uncertain  state 
she's  in  ?     No,  never,  Fergus — never." 

"Why?  of  what  use  can  you  be  to  her  now,  and  you  sep- 
arated from  her — ay,  and  witliout  the  power  of  doin'  anything 
to  sarve  her?" 

"  Fergus,"  said  she,  resolutely,  "  it's  useless  at  the  present 
time  to  speak  to  me  on  ;his  sulDJect.  I'm  glad  you've  got 
*  yourself  from  among  these  cruel  and  unconscionable  Rap)- 
oarees — I'm  glad  you're  free  ;  but  I  tell  you  that  if  you  had 
the  wealth  of  Squire  Folliard — ay,  or  of  Whitecraft  himself, 
which  they  say  is  still  greater,  I  wouldn't  become  your  v;ife  so 
long  as  she's  in  the  state  she's  in." 

"That's  strong  language,  Ellen,  and  I  am  sorry  to  hear  it 
from  you.  My  God  !  can  you  think  of  nobody's  happiness 
but  the  Cooleen  Bawii's'i  As  for  me,  it's  my  opinion  I  like 
Reilly  as  well  every  bit  as  you  do  her;  but,  for  ail  that,  not 


WILL  Y  HE  ILL  Y.  2  09 

even  the  state  he's  in,  nor  the  danger  that  surrounds  him, 
would  prevent  me  from  marryin'  a  wife — from  biudin'  your 
heart  and  mine  together  for  h'fe,  my  darlin'  Ellen." 

"  Ah  !  Fergus,  you're  a  man — not  a  woman — and  can't 
understand  what  true  attachment  is.  You  men  never  can. 
You're  a  selfish  set — at  least  the  most  of  you  are — with  some 
exceptions,  I  grant." 

"  And,  upon  my  soul,  Ellen,"  replied  Fergus,  with  a  good- 
humored  smile,  "  I'm  one  of  the  choicest  and  natest  of  the 
exceptions.  I  prefer  everybody's  happiness  to  my  own — poor 
Sir  Robert  Whitecraft's,  for  instance.  Now,  don't  you  call 
that  generosity  ?" 

She  gave  a  mournful  smile,  and  replied,  "  Fergus,  I  can't 
join  in  your  mirth  now  as  I  used  to  do.  Many  a  pleasant 
conversation  we've  had  ;  but  then  our  hearts  were  light,  and 
free  from  care.  No,  Fergus,  you  must  lave  all  thoughts  of 
me  aside,  for  I  will  have  nothing  of  either  love  or  courtship 
till  I  know  her  fate.  Who  can  say  but  I  may  be  brought 
back  ?  She  said  she'd  try  what  she  could  do  with  her  father 
to  effect  it.  You  know  how  whimsical  the  old  Squire  is  ; 
and  who  knows  whether  she  may  not  stand  in  need  of  me 
again?  But,  Fergus,  there's  one  thing  strikes  me  as  odd,  and, 
indeed,  that  doesn't  rise  you  much  in  my  good  opinion.  But 
first,  let  me  ask  you,  what  friend  it  is  who'd  give  you  the 
means  of  going  to  another  country?" 

"Why,  who  else  but  Reilly?"  he  replied. 

"  And  could  you,"  she  returned,  with  something  like  con- 
tempt stamped  upon  her  pretty  features — "could  you  be  mane 
and  ungrateful  enough  to  leave  him  now  in  the  trouble  and 
sorrow  that  he's  in,  and  think  only  of  yourself?" 

"No,  indeed,  my  dear  Ellen;  but  I  was  onl}'  layin' the 
plan  whenever  we  might  be  able  to  put  it  in  practice.  I'm 
not  exactly  a  boy  of  that  kidney — to  desart  my  friend  in  the 
day  of  his  trouble — devil  a  bit  of  it,  my  darlin'." 

"  Well,  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  speak  as  you  do,"  she  said, 
with  a  smile  ;  "  and  now,  to  reward  your  constancy  to  him,  1 
tell  you  that  whenever  they're  settled,  or  at  all  events,  out  of 
their  troubles,  if  you  think  me  worth  your  while,  I  won't  have 
any  objection  to  become  your  wife  ;  and — there — what  are 
you  about,  Fergus?  See  this,  now — you've  almost  broken  the 
tortoise-shell  crooked-comb  that  she  made  me  a  present  of." 

"Why,  blood  alive,  Ellen,  sure  it  was  only  sealin'  the  bar- 
gain I  was." 

"  But  remember  it  is  a  bargain,  and  one  I'll  stick  to. 
14 


2 1  o  WILL  V  REILL  Y. 

Now  leave  me  ;  it's  gettin'  quite  dark  ;  or,  if  you  like,  you 
may  see  me  across  the  fields." 

Such,  in  fact,  was  the  indomitable  attachment  of  this  faith- 
ful girl  to  her  lovely  and  affectionate  mistress  that,  with  a 
generosity  as  unselfish  as  it  was  rare,  and  almost  heroic,  she 
never  for  a  moment  thought  of  putting  her  own  happiness  or 
prospects  in  life  in  competition  with  those  of  the  Coolcen  Bmvn. 
The  latter,  it  is  true,  was  conscious  of  this  unparalleled  at- 
tachment, and  appreciated  it  at  its  true  value.  How  nobly 
this  admirable  girl  fulfilled  her  generous  purpose  of  abiding 
by  the  fate  and  fortunes  of  her  unhappy  mistress  will  be  seen 
as  the  narrative  goes  along. 

Ellen's  appearance  in  her  father's  house  surprised  the 
family  not  a  little.  The  expression  of  sorrow  which  shaded 
her  very  handsome  features,  and  a  paleness  which  was  un- 
usual to  her,  alarmed  them  considerably — not  so  much  from 
any  feeling  connected  with  herself,  as  from  an  apprehension 
that  some  new  distress  or  calamity  had  befallen  the  Cooleen 
Bawn,  to  whom  they  all  felt  almost  as  deeply  attached  as  she 
did  herself.  After  the  first  affectionate  salutations  were  over, 
she  said,  with  a  languid  smile  : 

"  I  suppose  you  all  wonder  to  see  me  here  at  this  hour ; 
or,  indeed,  to  see  me  here  at  all." 

"  I  hope,  Ellen,"  said  her  father,  "  that  nothing  unpleas- 
ant has  happened  to  herT 

"May  the  Lord  forbid,"  said  her  mother,  "and  may  the 
Lord  take  the  darlin'  creature  out  of  all  her  troubles.  But 
has  there,  Ellen — has  anything  happened  to  her?" 

"Nothing  more  than  usual,"  replied  their  daughter,  "bar- 
ring that  I  have  been  sent  away  from  her — I  am  no  longer 
her  own  maid  now." 

"  C/iierna/"  exclaimed  her  mother;  "and  what  is  that  for, 
alanna  ?  " 

"  Well,  indeed,  mother,  I  can't  exactly  say,"  replied  Ellen, 
"but  I  suppose  it  is  because  they  knew  I  loved  her  too  much 
to  be  a  spy  upon  her.  I  have  raison,  however,  to  suspect  that 
the  7)iUaiti  is  at  the  bottom  of  it,  and  that  the  girl  who  came 
in  my  place  will  act  more  like  a  jailer  than  a  maid  to  her. 
Of  course  they're  all  afraid  that  she'll  run  away  with  Reilly." 

"And  do  you  think  she  will,  Ellen?"  asked  her  father. 

"  Don't  ask  me  any  such  questions,"  she  replied.  "It's 
no  matter  what  I  think — and,  besides,  it's  not  my  business  to 
mention  my  thouf'^'s  to  anyone — but  one  thing  I  know,  It'll 
go  hard  if  she  ever  leaves  her  father,  who,  J  really  think, 
would  break  his  heart  if  she  did." 


*VILLY  REILLV.  211 

"Oh  !  "  observed  the  father,  with  a  smile,  "  devil  a  one  o' 
you  girls,  Ellen,  ever  thinks  much  of  father  or  mother  when 
you  have  made  up  your  minds  to  run  away  wid  your  boiuha- 
leens — sorra  a  taste. 

"  Arra,  Brian,  will  you  have  sinse,"  said  his  wife  ;  "  why 
wouldn't  they  think  o'  them  ?  " 

"  Did  jw/;  do  it  ?"  he  asked,  winking  at  the  rest,  "  when 
you  took  a  brave  start  wid  myself  across  Crockaniska,  one 
summer  Sunday  night,  long  ago.  Be  me  sovvl,  you  proved 
yourself  as  supple  as  a  two-year-old — cleared  drain  and  ditch 
like  a  bird — and  had  me,  when  we  reached  my  uncle's,  that 
the  eyes  wor  startin'  out  o'  my  head." 

"Bad  scran  to  him,  the  ould  slingpoker!  Do  you  hear 
him,"  she  exclaimed,  laughing — "  never  mind  him,  children  ! 
— trodi,  he  went  at  sich  a  snail's  pace  that  one  'ud  think  it 
was  to  confession  he  was  goin',  and  that  he  did  nothing  but 
think  of  his  sins  as  he  went  along." 

"  That  was  bekaise  I  knew  that  I  had  the  penance  before 
me,"  he  replied,  laughing  also. 

"  Any  how,"  replied  his  wife,  "  our  case  was  not  like 
their's.  We  were  both  Catholics,  and  knew  that  we'd  have 
the  consent  of  our  friends,  besides  ;  we  only  made  a  run- 
away because  it  was  the  custom  of  the  counthrv,  gflorv  be  to 
God!"  ^    "     ' 

"  Ay,  ay,"  rejoined  her  husband  ;  "  but,  faith,  it  was  you 
that  proved  yourself  the  active  girl  that  night,  at  any  rate. 
However,  I  hope  the  Lord  will  grant  her  grace  to  go  wid  him 
at  all  events,  for,  upon  my  sowl,  it  would  be  a  great  boast 
for  the  Catholics — bekaise  we  know  there  is  one  thing  sure, 
and  that  the  devil  a  long  she'd  be  wid  him  till  he'd  have 
left  her  fit  to  face  Europe  as  a  Christian  and  a  Catholic,  be- 
kaise every  wife  ought  to  go  wid  her  husband,  barrin'  he's  a 
Prodestant." 

Poor  Ellen  paid  little  attention  to  this  conversation.  She 
felt  deeply  depressed,  and,  after  many  severe  struggles  to  re- 
strain herself,  at  last  burst  into  tears. 

"Come,  darlin', "  said  her  father,  •' don't  let  this  affair 
cast  you  down  so  much  ;  all  will  yet  turn  out  for  the  betther, 
I  hope.  Cheer  up,  avilUsh ;  maybe  that,  down-hearted  as 
you  are,  I  have  good  news  for  you.  Your  old  sweetheart 
was  here  this  evenin',  and  hopes  soon  to  h  \  e  his  pardon — 
he's  a  dacent  boy,  and  has  good  blood  in  his  vjins  ;  and  as 
for  his  joinin'  O'Donnel,  it  wasn't  a  bad  heart  set  him  to  do 
It,  but  the  oppression  that  druv  him,  as  it  did  many  others, 


212  WILLY  REILLY. 

to  take  the  steps  he  took — oppression  on   the  one  side,  and 

bitterness  of  heart  on  the  other." 

"  I  saw  him  a  while  ago,"  she  replied,  "  and  he  tculd  me 
a  good  deal  about  himself.  But,  indeed,  father,  it's  not  of 
him  I'm  thinkin',  but  on  the  darlin'  girl  that's  on  the  brink  of 
destruction,  and  what  I  know  she's  sufferin'.  " 

"  I  wondher  where  Reilly  is,"  said  her  mother.  "My 
goodness  !  sure  he  ought  to  make  a  push,  and  take  her  off  at 
wanst.  I  dunna  is  he  in  the  country  at  all  ?  What  do  you 
think,  Ellen  ? " 

"  Indeed,  mother,"  she  replied,  "  very  few,  I  believe, 
knows  anything  about  him.  All  I'm  afraid  of  is,  that,  wher- 
ever he  may  be,  he'll  hardly  escape  discovery," 

"  Well,"  said  her  father,  "  I'll  tell  you  what  we'll  do.  Let 
us  kneel  down  and  offer  up  ten  pathers,  ten  aves,  and  a 
creed,  that  the  Lord  may  protect  them  both  from  their  ene- 
mies, and  grant  them  a  happy  marriage,  in  spite  of  laws,  par- 
liaments, magistrates,  spies,  persecutors,  and  priest-hunters, 
and,  as  our  hands  are  in,  let  us  offer  up  a  few  that  God  may 
confound  that  villain,  Whitecraft,  and  bring  him  snugly  to 
the  gallows." 

This  was  immediately  complied  with,  in  a  spirit  of  earn- 
estness surpassing  probably  what  they  might  have  felt  had 
they  been  praying  for  their  own  salvation.  The  prayers 
having  been  concluded,  and  supper  prepared,  in  due  time  the 
family  retired  to  rest  for  the  night. 

When  Fergus  Reilly  took  his  leave  of  Ellen,  he  directed 
his  steps  to  the  cottage  of  Mrs.  Buckley,  where,  for  certain 
purposes  connected  with  his  designs  on  the  Red  Rapparee, 
he  had  been  in  the  habit  of  meeting  the  sagacious  fool,  Tom 
Steeple.  It  was  there,  besides,  that  he  had  left  his  disguise, 
which  the  unaccomplished  progress  of  his  projects  rendered 
it  necessary  that  he  should  once  more  resume.  This,  in  fact, 
was  the  place  of  their  rendezvous,  where  they  generally  met 
at  night.  These  meetings,  however,  were  not  always  very 
regular,  for  poor  Tom,  notwithstanding  his  singular  and 
anomalous  cunning,  was  sometimes  led  away  by  his  gastric 
appetite  to  hunt  for  a  bully  dinner,  or  a  bully  supper,  or  a 
mug  of  strong  beer,  as  the  case  might  be,  and  after  a  gorge 
he  was  frequently  so  completely  overtaken  by  laziness  and  a 
consequent  tendency  to  sleep,  that  he  retired  to  the  barn,  or 
some  other  outhouse,  where  he  stretched  his  limbs  on  a  shake- 
down of  hay  or  straw,  and  lapped  himself  into  a  state  of 
luxury  which  many  an  epicure  of  rank  and  wealth  might  envy. 


WILLY  REILLY.  213 

On  reaching  the  widow's  cottage,  Fergus  felt  sonu  wliat 
disappointed  that  Tom  was  not  there,  nor  had  he  been  seen 
that  day  in  any  part  of  the  neighborhood.  Fergus,  however, 
whilst  the  widow  was  keeping  watch  outside,  contrived  to  get 
on  his  old  disguise  once  more,  after  which  he  proceeded  in 
the  direction  of  his  place  of  refuge  for  the  night.  On  cross- 
ing the  fields,  however,  towards  the  wild  and  lonely  road, 
which  was  at  no  great  distance  from  the  cottage,  he  met  Tom 
approaching  it  at  his  usual  sling-trot  pace. 

"  Is  that  Tom  ?  "  said  he—"  tall  Tom  ?  " 

"  Hicco,  hicco  ! "  replied  Tom,  quite  gratified  with  the 
compliment.  "You  be  tall,  too — not  as  tall  as  Tom  dough. 
Tom  got  bully  dinner  to-day,  and  bully  sleep  in  de  barn,  and 
bully  supper,  but  wasn't  sleepy  den — hicco,  hicco." 

"Well,  Tom,  what  news  about  what  you  know  ?  " 

"  In  toder  house,"  replied  Tom  ;  "  him  sleeps  in  Peg  Fini- 
gan's  sometimes,  and  sometimes  in  toder  again — dat  is,  Mary 
Mahon's.  Him's  afeared  of  something — heard  him  say  to, 
sure,  to  ould  Peg.'' 

"  Well,  Tom,  if  you  will  keep  your  eye  on  him,  so  that 
you  can  let  us  know  where  to  find  him,  we'll  engage  to  give 
you  a  bully  dinner  every  day,  and  a  bully  supper  every  night 
of  your  life,  and  a  swig  of  stout  ale  to  wash  it  down,  with 
plenty  of  straw  to  sleep  on,  and  a  winnow-cloth  and  lots  of 
sacks  to  keep  you  as  warm  and  cosey  as  a  winter  hob.  You 
know  where  to  find  me  every  evenin'  after  dusk,  Tom,  and 
when  you  conje  with  good  news,  you'll  be  a  made  man  ;  and, 
listen,  Tom,  it'll  make  you  a  foot  taller,  and  who  knows,  man 
alive,  but  we  may  show  you  for  a  giant,  now." 

"  Hicco,  hicco  !  "  said  Tom  ;  "  dat  great — never  mind  ; 
me  gatch  him  for  you.  A  giant  ! — oh,  gorramarcy  ! — a  giant  ! 
— hicco  ! — gorramarcy  !  "  and  with  these  words  he  darted  off 
in  some  different  direction,  whilst  Fergus  went  to  his  usual 
place  of  *est  for  the  night. 

It  would  seem  by  the  Red  Rapparee's  movements  at  this 
time  as  if  he  entertained  some  vague  suspicion  of  awakened 
justice,  notwithstanding  the  assurance  of  safety  previously 
communicated  to  him  by  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft.  Indeed,  it 
is  not  impossible  that  even  the  other  individuals  who  had  dis- 
tinguished themselves  under  that  zealous  baronet  might  in  iheir 
conversations  with  each  other,  have  enabled  the  Rapparee  to 
get  occasional  glimpses  of  the  new  state  of  things  which  had 
just  taken  place,  and  that,  in  consequence,  he  shifted  about 
a  good  deal,  taking  care  never  to  sleep  two  nights   in   succes- 


214 


WILL  Y  REILL  V. 


sion  under  the  same  roof.  Be  this  as  it  may,  the  eye  of  Tom 
Steeple  was  on  him,  without  the  least  possible  suspicion  on 
his  part  that  he  was  under  his  siirveiUancc. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

REILLY   TAKES    SERVICE    WITH    SQUIRE    FOLLIARD. 

Reilly  led  a  melancholy  life  after  the  departure  of  the 
pious  bishop.  A  week,  however,  had  elapsed,  and  he  felt  as 
if  it  had  been  half  a  year.  His  anxiety,  however,  either  to 
see  or  hear  from  his  Cooleen  Bawn  completely  overcame 
him,  and  he  resolved,  at  all  events,  to  write  to  her  ;  ia  the 
mean  time,  how  was  he  to  do  this  ?  There  was  no  letter- 
paper  in  the  farmer's  house,  nor  any  to  be  procured  within 
miles,  and,  under  those  circumstances,  he  resolved  to  pay  a 
visit  to  Mr.  Brown.  After  some  trouble  he  was  admitted  to 
the  presence  of  that  gentleman,  who  could  scarcely  satisfy 
himself  of  his  identity  ;  but  at  length,  he  felt  assured,  and 
asked  him  into  the  study. 

"  My  dear  Reilly,"  said  he,  "  I  think  you  are  infatuated. 
I  thought  you  had  been  out  of  the  country  long  before  this. 
Why,  in  heaven's  name,  do  you  remain  in  Ireland,  when  you 
know  the  difficulty,  of  escape  ?  I  have  had,  since  I  saw  you 
last,  two  or  three  domiciliary  visits  from  Whitecraft  and  his 
men,  w-ho  searched  my  whole  house  and  premises  in  a  spirit 
of  insolence  that  was  most  indelicate  and  offensive.  Hastings 
and  I  have  sent  a  memorial  to  the  Lord  Lieutenant,  signed  by 
some  of  the  most  respectable  Protestant  gentry  in  the  country, 
in  which  we  stated  his  wanton  tyranny  as  well  as  his  oppres- 
sion of  his  Majesty's  subjects — harmless  and  loyal  men,  and 
whom  he  pursues  with  unsatiable  vengeance,  merely  because 
they  are  Roman  Catholics.  I  certainly  do  not  expect  that 
our  memorial  will  be  attended  to  by  this  Administration. 
There  is  a  report,  however,  that  the  present  Ministry  will  soon 
go  out,  and  be  succeeded  by  one  more  liberal." 

"  Well,"  replied  Reilly,  "  since  I  saw  you  last  I  have  had 
some  narrow  escapes  ;  but  I  think  it  would  be  difficult  to 
know  me  in  my  present  disguise." 

"  I  grant  that,"  said  Mr.  Brown,  "  but  then  is  there  noth- 
ing to  be  apprehended  from  treachery  ?  " 


WILLY  REILLY. 


215 


"I  think  not,"  replied  the  other.  "There  is  only  the 
farmer  and  his  family,  with  whom  the  bishop  and  1  harbored, 
who  are  aware  of  my  disguise,  and  to  that  number  I  must  now 
add  yourself." 

"  Well,"  replied  Mr.  Brown,  smiling,  "  I  do  not  think  you 
have  much  to  apprehend  from  me." 

"  No,"  said  Reilly,  "you  have  given  me  too  many  sub- 
stantial proofs  of  your  confidence  for  that.  But  I  wish  to 
write  a  letter  ;  and  I  have  neither  pen,  ink,  nor  paper  ;  will 
you  be  good  enough  to  lend  me  the  use  of  your  study  for  a 
few  minutes,  and  your  writing  materials  ? " 

The  excellent  clergyman  immediately  conducted  him  to 
the  study,  and  placed  the  materials  before  him  with  his  own 
hands,  after  which  he  left  the  room.  Reilly  then  sat  down, 
and  penned  the  following  letter  to  his  dear  Cooleen  Baivn  : 

"  I  am  now  thoroughly  disguised,  indeed  so  efifectually 
that  my  nearest  and  dearest  friends  could  nofknow  me  ;  nay, 
I  question  whether  even  you  yourself  would,  except  by  the 
keen  intuition  of  affection,  which  is  said  to  penetrate  all  dis- 
guises, unless  those  of  falsehood  and  hypocrisy.  These, 
however,  are  disguises  I  have  never  worn,  nor  ever  shall  wear 
— either  to  you  or  any  human  being.  I  had  intended  to  go 
to  the  Continent  until  this  storm  of  persecution  might  blow 
over;  but  on  reflection  I  changed  my  purpose,  for  I  cculd 
not  leave  you  to  run  the  risk  of  being  ensnared  in  the  subtle 
and  treacherous  policy  of  f/iaf  villain.  It  is  my  intention  to 
visit  your  father's  house  and  to  see  you  if  I  can.  You  need 
not,  for  the  sake  of  my  safety,  object  to  this,  because  no  one 
can  know  me.  The  description  of  my  dress,  though  some- 
what undignified,  I  must  give  you.  In  the  first  place,  then,  I 
am,  to  all  outward  appearance,  as  rude-looking  a  country 
lout  as  ever  you  looked  upon.  My  disguise  consists,  first,  of 
a  pair  of  brogues  embroidered  with  clouts,  or  what  is  vulgarly 
denominated  patches,  out  of  the  point  of  one  of  which — that 
of  the  right  foot — nearly  half  my  toe  visibly  projects.  The 
stockings  are  coarse  Connemaras,  with  sufficient  air-holes, 
both  in  feet  and  legs,  to  admit  the  pure  atmosphere,  and 
strengthen  the  muscular  system.  My  small-clothes  are  cordu- 
roys, bought  from  a  hard-working  laborer,  with  a  large  patch 
upon  each  knee.  A  tailor,  however,  has  promised  to  get 
some  buttons  for  them  and  sew  them  on.  The  waistcoat  is 
altogether  indescribable  ;  because,  as  its  materials  seem  to 
have  been  rescued,  that  is,  stolen,  from  all  the  scarecrows  in 
the  country,  I  a5i\  unable  to  come  at  the  first  fabric,     The 


2  J  6  J^^LL  V  RE  ILL  Y. 

coat  itself  is  also  beautifully  variegated,  its  patches  consisting 
of  all  the  colors  of  the  rainbow,  with  two  or  three  dozen  that 
never  appeared  in  that  beautiful  phenomenon.  But  what 
shall  I  say  of  the  pendiment,  or  caubeen,  which  is  a  perfect 
gem  of  its  kind  ?  The  villain  who  wore  it,  I  have  been  told 
by  the  person  who  acted  as  factor  for  me  in  its  purchase,  was 
one  of  the  most  quarrelsome  rascals  in  Ireland,  and  seldom 
went  without  a  black  eye  or  a  broken  pate.  This,  I  suppose, 
accounts  for  the  droop  in  the  leaf,  which  covers  the  left  eye 
so  completelv,  as  well  as  for  the  ventilator,  which  so  admir- 
ably refreshes  the  head,  and  allows  the  rain  to  come  in  so 
abundantly  to  cool  it.  I  cannot  help  reflecting,  however,  on 
the  fate  of  those  who  have  nothing  better  to  wear,  and  of  the 
hard  condition  which  dooms  them  to  it.  And  now,  my  be- 
loved Cooleen  Bawft,  whilst  I  have  thus  endeavored  to  make 
you  smile,  I  assure  you  I  have  exaggerated  very  little.  This 
dress,  you  know,  is  precisely  that  of  a  wretched  Connaught- 
man  looking  for  employment.  The  woman  who  will,  through 
our  confidant,  Lanigan,  deliver  this  to  you,  is  a  poor  faithful 
creature,  a  pensioner  of  mine,  who  may  be  trusted.  Appoint 
through  her  a  day  and  hour  when,  as  a  man  seeking  for  labor, 
I  will  stand  at  the  hall  door.  I  am  quite  satisfied  that  neither 
your  father,  nor  the  villain,  will  know  me  from  Adam.  The 
woman  who  is  to  bring  this  will  call  on  the  second  day  after 
its  delivery,  and  I  shall  be  guided  by  whatever  message  you 
may  send  me.  On  one  thing,  however,  I  am  determined, 
which  is,  that  if  it  should  cost  me  my  life,  I  will  prevent  the 
meditated  marriage  between  you  and  him.  Sooner  than  such 
an  event  should  take  place,  I  would  put  a  pistol  to  his  head 
and  blow  his  guilty  soul  into  that  perdition  which  awaits  it. 
Don't  write  ;  let  your  message  be  verbal,  and  destroy  this." 

On  going  to  widow  Buckley's,  he  learned — after  some 
trouble  in  identifying  himself — that  she  had  several  visits 
from  Sir  Robert  and  his  men,  at  all  hours,  both  by  night  and 
day.  He  therefore  hastily  gave  her  the  necessary  instructions 
how  to  act,  and,  above  all  things,  to  ask  to  see  Lanigan,  and, 
if  possible,  to  bring  some  eggs  or  chickens  for  sale,  which 
fact,  he  said,  would  give  a  color  to  her  appearance  there,  and 
prevent  the  possibility  of  any  suspicion.  Having  placed  the 
letter  in  her  keeping,  together  with  some  silver  to  enable  her 
to  purchase  either  the  eggs  or  the  chickens,  in  case  she  had 
them  not  herself,  he  then  returned  to  li.e  farmer's,  where  he 
remained  quietly  and  without  disturbance  of  any  kind  until 
the  third  day,  when  widow  Buckley  made  her  appearance. 


WILLY  REILLY.  217 

He  brought  her  out  to  the  garden,  because  in  discussing  mat- 
ters connected  with  his  Coolcm  Bawn  he  did  not  wish  that 
even  the  farmer's  family  should  be  auditors — although  we 
may  say  here  that  not  only  were  the  loves  of  Willy  Reilly  and 
Codeen  Ban-n  known  to  the  farmer  and  his  family,  but  also  to 
the  whole  country,  and,  indeed,  through  the  medium  of  bal- 
lads, to  the  greater  portion  of  the  kingdom. 

"Well,  Mrs.  Buckley,"  said  he,  "did  you  see  her?" 

"  Oh,  bad  scran  to  you,  Mr.  Reilly  !  you're  the  very  sarra 
among  the  girls  when  you  could  persuade  that  lovely  creature 
to  fall  in  love  with  you — and  you  a  Catholic,  an'  her  a  Prot- 
estant!  May  I  never,  if  I  think  there's  her  aquil  out  o' 
heaven  !  Devil  an  angel  I  think  in  it  could  hould  a  candle 
to  her  for  beauty  and  figure.  She  only  wants  the  wings,  sir 
— for  they  say  that  all  the  angels  have  wings  ;  and  upon  my 
conscience  if  she  had  them  I  know  the  man  she'd  fly  to." 

"  But  what  happened,  Mrs.  Buckley  }  " 

"  Why,  I  sould  some  chickens  and  eggs  to  the  cook,  who 
at  wanst  knew  me,  because  I  had  often  sould  him  chickens 
and  eggs  before.  He  came  up  to  the  hall  door,  and — '  Well, 
Mrs.  Buckley,'  says  he,  '  what's  the  news  ? '  'Be  dhe  huslk,' 
says  I,  '  before  I  sell  you  the  chickens,  let  me  ax  is  the 
Cooleen  Bawn  at  home  ? '  '  She  is,'  says  he,  lookin'  me  sharp 
and  straight  in  the  face  ;  '  do  you  want  her  ? '  'I  would  like 
to  see  her,'  says  I,  '  for  a  minute  or  two.'  '  Ay,'  says  he,  back 
agin  to  me,  '  you  have  a  message — and  you  know  besides  that 
she  never  buys  chickens  ;  that's  my  business.'  '  But,'  says  I, 
back  agin,  '  I  was  tould  by  hwi  that  you  were  faithful,  and 
could  be  depinded  on.'  'Ay,' says  he;  'but  I  thought  he 
had  left  the  counthry.'  '  Troth,  then,'  says  I, '  he's  to  the  fore 
still,  and  won't  lave  the  counthry  till  he  sees  her  wanst  more,  at 
all  events.'  '  Have  you  a  letther  ? '  'Befhershin,'  says  I, '  could 
you  let  me  see  her  ;  for  he  tould  me  to  say  to  her  that  she 
is  not  to  indite  letthers  to  him,  for  fraid  of  discovery.'  'Well,' 
says  he,  'as  the  masther's  at  home,  I'll  have  some  difficulty 
in  spakin'  to  her.  Devil  a  move  she  gives  but  he  watches  , 
and  we  got  a  new  servant  the  other  day,  and  devil  a  thing  she 
is  but  a  spy  from  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  and  some  people  say 
that  her  masthcr  and  she  forgot  the  Gospel  between  them. 
Indeed  I  believe  thai''s  pretty  well  known  ;  and  isn't  he  a  hor- 
rid villain  to  send  such  a  vagabond  to  attend  and  be  about 
the  very  woman  that  he  expects  to  be  his  own  wife  ? ' " 

"  Don't  be  so  particular  in  your  descriptions,  Mrs.  Buck- 
ley," said  Reilly,     "  Did  you  see  the  Cooleen  Bawn  V 


2 1 8  WILL  Y  RE  ILL  Y. 

"  Look  at  that,"  she  replied,  opening  her  hand,  and  show- 
ing him  a  golden  guinea — "don't  you  know  by  that -that  I 
seen  her  ?  but  you  must  let  me  go  on  my  own  way.  '  Well,' 
says  Lanigan,  the  cook,  '  I  must  go  and  see  what  I  can 
do.'  He  then  went  up  stairs,  and  contrived  to  give  her  a  hint, 
and  that  was  enough,  'The  Lord  bless  us,  Mr.  Reilly, 
what  won't  love  do  ?  This  girl — as  Lanigan  tould  me — 
that  the  villain  Whitecraft  had  sent  as  a  spy  upon  her 
actions,  was  desired  to  go  to  her  wardrobe,  to  pick  out  froni 
among  her  beautiful  dresses  one  that  she  had  promised  her 
as  a  present  some  days  before.  The  cook  had  this  from 
the  girl  herself,  who  was  the  sarra  for  dress  ;  but,  anyhow, 
while  the  she  spy  was  tumbling  about  Cooleen  BawiPs  dresses, 
the  darlin'  herself  whipped  down  stairs,  and  coming  to  me 
says,  '  The  cook  tells  me  you  have  a  message  for  me.'  Jist 
at  this  moment,  and  after  she  had  slipped  the  letter  into  her 
bosom,  her  father  turns  a  corner  round  the  garden,  and 
seeing  his  daughter,  which  wa?  "  very  unusual  thing,  in  con- 
versation with  a  person  like  m^stlf,  he  took  the  alarm  at 
once.  '  How,  Helen  ?  who  is  thic  ^o?.  are  speaking  to  ?  No 
go-between,  I  hope  .''  Who  are  you,  von  blasted  old  she  whelp  ? ' 
'I  am  no  more  a  she  whelp  than  \oli  are.'  'Then  maybe  you 
are  a  he  one  in  dis^juise.  What  broi.ght  you  here  ? '  *  Herel 
I  came  to  sell  my  eggs  and  my  chickens,  as  I  done  for  years.' 
'  K?z^r  eggs  and  jv//r  chickens!  cuise  you,  you  old  Jezebel, 
did  j(w<!  ever  lay  the  eggs  or  hatch  the  chickens  ?  And  if  you 
did,  why  not  produce  the  old  cock  himself,  in  proof  of  the 
truth  of  what  you  say  ?  I'll  have  you  searched,  though,  in 
spite  of  your  eggs  and  chickens.  Here,'  he  said  to  one  of  the 
footmen,  who  was  passing  through  the  hall — 'here,  Jones, 
send  up  Lanigan,  till  we  see  whether  he  knows  this  old  faggot, 
who  has  the  assurance  to  tell  me  that  she  lays  eggs  and 
hatches  chickens.'  When  Lanigan  came  up  again,  he  looked 
at  me  as  an  ould  acquaintance,  which,  in  point  of  fact,  we 
were.  'Why,  your  honor,' said  he,  'this  is  a  poor,  honest 
creature  that  has  been  selling  us  eggs  and  chickens  for  many 
years.'  '  She  wouldn't  be  a  go-between,  Lanigan — eh?  What's 
your  name,  you  old  faggot — eh?'  'My  name  is  Scrahag, 
your  honor,'  says  1,  'one  of  the  Scrahags  of  Ballycumpiatee 
— an  honest  and  dacint  family,  sir  ;  but  if  your  honor  would 
buy  the  eggs,  at  any  rate,  and  hatch  them  yourself,'  says  I  to 
him  "  (for  she  had  a  large  stock  of  Irish  humor),  "'  you  know, 
sir,  you  could  have  the  ciiickens  at  first  cost.'  '  Ha,  ha,  ha,* 
and  the  squire  laughed  till  he  neearly  split  his  sides  ;  'by~^— * 


WILL  Y  REILL  Y. 


219 


I'm  hit  — God  pardon  me  for  repeatin'  his  oaths,  '  Here, 
Lanigan,  bring  her  down  to  the  kitchen,  and  give  her  a  fog 
meal.'  '  I  understand  you,  sir,'  said  Lanigan,  smiling  at  him. 
'Yes,  Lanigan  give  her  a  cargo  of  the  best  in  the  pantry. 
She's  a  shrewd  and  comical  old  blade,'  said  he  ;  'give  her  a 
kegful  of  beef  or  mutton,  or  both,  and  a  good  swill  of  ale  or 
porter,  or  whatever  she  prefers.  Curse  me,  but  I  give  the  old 
whelp  credit  for  the  hit  she  gave  me.  Pay  her,  besides,  what- 
ever she  asks  for  her  eggs  and  chickens.  Here,  you  bitter 
old  randletree,  there  are  three  thirteens  for  you  \  and  if  you 
\i\\\  go  down  to  the  kitchen  with  the  cook,  he  will  give  you  a 
regular  skinful.'  The  cook,  knowing  that  the  Cooleen  Bawn 
wished  to  send  some  message  back  to  you,  sir,  brought  me 
down,  and  gave  me  not  only  plenty  to  ait  and  drink,  but 
stuffed  the  praskeen  that  I  had  carried  the  eggs  and  chickens 
in  with  as  much  cold  meat  and  bread  as  it  could  contain." 

"  Well,  but  did  you  not  see  her  afterwards  .-•  and  did  she 
send  no  message  ?  " 

"  Only  two  or  three  words  ;  the  day  after  to-morrow,  at 
two  o'clock,  come  to  look  for  labor,  and  she  will  contrive  to 
see  you." 

This  was  enough,  and  Reilly  did  not  allow  his  ambassa- 
dress to  leave  him  without  substantial  marks  of  his  bounty 
also. 

When  the  old  squire  went  to  his  study,  he  desired  the 
gardener  to  be  sent  for,  and  when  that  individual  entered,  he 
found  his  master  in  a  towering  passion. 

"What  is  the  reason,  Malcomson,"  said  he,  "  that  the 
garden  is  in  such  a  shameful  state  ?  I  declare  to  God  it  is 
scandalous." 

"  Ou,  your  honor,"  replied  Malcomson,  who  was  a  Scotch- 
man, "  e'en  because  you  will  not  allow  me  an  under-gerdener. 
No  one  man  could  manage  your  gerden,  and  it  canna  be 
managed  without  some  clever  chiel,  what  understands  the 
sceence." 

"  The  what  ? " 

"  The  sceence,  your  honor." 

"  Why,  confound  you,  sir,  what  science  is  necessary  in 
gardening? " 

"  I  tell  your  honor  that  the  management  of  a  gerden  re- 
quires baith  skeel  and  knowledge,  and  feelosophy." 

''Why,  confound  you,  sir,  again,  what  kind  of  doctrine  is 
this  ?  " 

"  It's  vara  true  doctrine,  sir.     You  have   large  and  spa- 


,  2  o  WILL  V  RE  ILL  Y. 

cious  green-houses,  and  I  wad  want  some  one  to  assist  me 
wha  understands  buttany." 

"  Buttony — buttony — why,  confound  you,  sirra,  send  for  a 
tailor,  then,  for  he  understands  buttony." 

"  I  see  your  honor  is  determined  to  indulge  in  a  jocular 
spirit  the  day.  The  truth  is,  your  honor,  I  hae  no  men  to 
assist  me  but  common  laborers,  who  are  altogether  ignorant 
of  gerdening ;  now,  if  I  had  a  man  who  could  direct  the  oper- 
ations— " 

"  Operations  !  curse  your  Scotch  impudence,  do  you  think 
yourself  a  general  ?  " 

"  Na,  na,  sir  ;  but  a  better  man  ;  and  I  tell  ye  that  I 
winna  remain  in  vour  service  unless  I  get  an  assistant  ;  and 
I  say  that,  if  it  werena  for  the  aid  of  Miss  Folliard,  I  wouldna 
been  able  to  keep  the  green-house  e'en  in  its  present  state. 
She  has  trailed  the  passion-flower  wi'  her  ain  hands  until  it  is 
flourishing.  Then  she  has  a  beautiful  little  plot  of  forget-me- 
nots  ;  but,  above  a',  it  wad  do  your  honor's  heart  gude  to  see 
the  beautiful  bed  she  has  of  sweet-william  and  love-lies-bleed- 
ing." 

"  Ay,  ay  !  love-lies-bleeding  ;  no  doubt  but  she'll  take  care 
of  that.  Well,  go  and  get  an  under-gardener  wherever  you 
can,  and  let  my  garden  be,  at  all  events,  such  as  a  stranger 
can  walk  through,  and  such  as  becomes  my  name  and 
property.  Engage  such  a  person,  give  him  whatever  you  con- 
sider fair  wages,  and  the  house-steward  will  pay  him  weekly. 
These  are  matters  I  can't  trouble  myself  with  now — I  have 
other  things  to  think  of." 

On  the  day  mentioned  in  Cooleen  Bawns  message,  Reilly 
hazarded  a  visit  to  the  squire's  house,  and  after  giving  a 
single  knock,  begged  to  see  the  cook.  The  porter  having 
looked  at  him  with  the  usual  contempt  which  menials  of  his 
class  bestow  upon  poor  persons,  went  down  to  the  kitchen 
with  a  good  deal  of  reluctance,  and  told  the  cook,  with  a  grin, 
that  one  of  his  relations  wanted  to  see  him. 

"  Well,"  replied  Lanigan,  who  had  been  made  aware  of 
the  intended  visit,  "  it's  wonderful,  in  these  hard  times,  the 
number  of  respectable  but  reduced  families  that's  goin' about. 
What  kind  of  a  gentleman  is  he,  John  1  because  I  am  very 
busy  now.  To  be  sure  there  is  a  great  deal  of  cold  vittles  left, 
that  would  be  lost  and  destroyed  if  we  didn't  give  them  to  the 
poor  ;  and  you  know  the  masther,  who  is  a  charitable  man, 
desired  us  to  do  so.  I'll  go  up  and  see  what  the  poor  devil 
wants." 


WILLY  REILLY.  22 1 

He  accordingly  went  up  to  the  hall-door,  and  found  Reilly 
there.  It  was  to  no  purpose  that  he  had  been  already  ap- 
prised of  his  disguise — it  was  so  complete  that  he  did  not 
know  him — his  beard  was  half  an  inch  long ;  and,  besides, 
Reilly,  knowing  the  risk  he  ran  in  this  daring  adventure,  had 
discolored  his  complexion  with  some  wash  that  gave  it  the 
tinge  of  a  mulatto.     The  cook  was  thunderstruck. 

"Well,   my  good   fellow,"   said    he,  not    in    the    slightest 
degree  recognizing  him,  "  what  do  you  want  with  me  ?  " 
"  Lanigan,"  replied  Reilly,  ''  don't  you  know  me  ?  " 
"  Know  you !  how  the  devil  should  I  know  you  ? — I  never 
saw  you  before.     What  do  you  want  with  me  ?  " 

"  Lanigan,"  whispered  the  other,  "did  you  never  hear  of 
Willy  Reilly  ? " 

"  Yes,  1  did  ;  have  you  any  message  from  him  ?  " 
"  I  am  the  man  myself,"  said  Reilly,  "  but  you  don't  know 
me,  I    am    so  completely    disguised.     Don't  you   know   my 
voice  ? " 

"  Merciful  Father  1  "  said  the  cook,  "  I'm  in  a  doldrom  ; 
can  I  be  sure  that  you  don't  come  from  Sir  Robert  White- 
craft,  the  notorious  blackguard  .''  " 

"  Lanigan,  I  avi  Willy  Reilly  ;  my  voice  ought  to  tell  you 
so  ;  but  I  wish  to  see  and  speak  with  my  dear  Cooleen  Bawnr 
"Oh,  my   God,    sir!"    replied    Lanigan,  "but    this   love 
makes  strange  transmigrations.     She  won't  know  you,  sir." 

"  Make  your  mind  easy  on  that  point,"  replied  Reilly  ; 
"only  let  her  know  that  I  am  here." 

"  Come  down  to  the  kitchen  then,  sir,  and  I  shall  put  you 
into  the  servant's  hall,  which  branches  off  it.  It  is  entered, 
besides,  by  a  different  door  from  that  of  the  kitchen,  and 
while  you  stav  there— and  you  can  pass  into  it  without  going 
through  the  kitchen— I  will  try  to  let  her  know  where  you  are. 
She  has  at  present  a  maid  who  was  sent  by  Sir  Robert  White- 
craft,  and  she  is  nothing  else  than  a  spy  ;  but  it'll  go  hard, 
or  I'll  baffle  her." 

He  accordingly  placed  Reilly  in  the  servant's  hall,  and  on 
his  way  to  the  drawing-room  met  Miss  FoUiard  going  to  her 
own  apartment,  which  commanded  a  view  of  the  front  of  the 
house.  He  instantly  communicated  to  her  the  fact  of  Reilly  s 
presence  in  the  servants'  hall  ;  "  but,"  added  Lanigan, 
"  you  won't  know  him — his  own  mother,  if  she  was  livin  , 
wouldn't  know  a  bone  in  his  body." 

"Oh!  "she  replied,  whilst  her  eyes  flashed  fearfully,  in 
fact,  in  a  manner  that  startled  the  cook — ''  oh  !  if  he  is  there 


222  WILLY  REILLY. 

I  shall  soon  know  him.  He  has  a  voice,  I  think — he  has  a 
voice  !     Has  he  not,  Lanigan  ?  " 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  replied  Lanigan,  "  he  has  a  voice  and  a 
heart  too." 

"  Oh  !  yes,  3'es,"  she  said,  "  I  must  go  to  him  ;  they  want 
to  marry  me  to  that  monster — to  that  bigot  and  persecutor, 
on  this  very  day  month  ;  but,  Lanigan,  it  shall  never  be — 
death  a  thousand  times  sooner  than  such  a  union.  If  the'_, 
attempt  to  bind  us,  death  shall  cut  the  link  asunder — that  I 
promise  you,  Lanigan.  But  I  must  go  to  him — I  must  go  to 
him." 

She  ran  down  the  stairs  as  she  spoke,  and  Lanigan,  hav- 
ing looked  after  her,  seemed  deeply  concerned, 

"  My  God  !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  what  will  become  of  that 
sweet  girl  if  she  is  forced  to  marry  that  wealthy  scoundrel  > 
I  declare  to  my  God  I  hardly  think  she  is  this  moment  in 
her  proper  senses.  There's  a  fare  in  her  eyes,  and  something 
in  her  manner,  that  I  never  observed  before.  -At  all  events, 
I  have  locked  the  door  that  opens  from  the  kitchen  into  the 
servants'  hall,  so  that  they  cannot  be  interrupted  from  that 
quarter." 

When  the  Cooleen  Bawn  entered,  she  shrunk  back  in- 
stinctively. The  disguise  was  so  complete  that  she  could  not 
impose  even  on  her  imagination  or  her  senses.  The  com- 
plexion was  different,  in  fact,  quite  sallow  ;  the  beard  long, 
and  the  costume  such  as  we  have  described  it.  There  was, 
in  fact,  something  extremely  ludicrous  in  the  meeting.  Here 
was  an  elegant  and  beautiful  young  woman  of  fashion, 
almost  ready,  as  it  were,  to  throw  herself  in  the  arms  of  a 
common  pauper,  with  a  beard  upon  him  better  than  half  an 
inch  long.  As  it  was,  she  stopped  suddenly  and  retreated  a 
step  or  two,  saying  as  she  did  so  : 

"  This  must  be  some  mistake.     Who  are  you  ?  " 

"  Helen  !  " 

"Reilly!  oh,  that  voice  basset  all  right.  But,  my  God, 
who  could  know  you  in  this  disguise .'' " 

They  approached,  and  Reilly,  seizing  her  hand,  said,  "  I 
will  shake  hands  with  you  ;  but  until  this  disguise  is  off  I 
would  consider  it  sacrilege  to  approach  nearer  to  your  per- 
son." 

"  No  disguise  can  ever  shut  you  out  from  my  heart,  dear 
Reilly  ;  but  what  is  to  be  done.-'  I  have  discovered,  by  one 
of  my  maids,  who  overheard  my  father  say,  in  a  short  solil- 
oquy— '  Well,  thank  God,  she'll  be  Sir  Robert's  wife  within  a 


WILLY  RETLLY. 


»23 


montli,  and  then  my  mind  will  be  easy  at  last.'  Oh  !  I'm 
glad  you  did  not  leave  this  country.  But,  as  I  said,  what  is 
to  be  done  ?     What  will  become  of  us  ?  " 

"  Under  our  peculiar  circumstances,"  replied  Reilly,  "  the 
question  cannot,  for  the  present  at  least,  be  answered.  As 
for  leaving  the  country,  I  might  easily  have  done  it,  but  I 
c  add  not  think  of  leaving  you  to  the  snares  and  windings  of 
tliat  villain.  I  declare  solemnly  I  would  rather  die  than  wit- 
ness a  union  between  you  and  him." 

"  But  what,  think  you,  should  I  feel  ?  You  would  be 
only  a  spectator  of  the  sacrifice,  whereas  I  should  be  the 
victim." 

"  Do  not  be  cast  down,  my  love  ;  whilst  I  have  life,  and 
a  strong  arm,  it  shall  never  be.  Before  I  go  I  shall  make 
arrangements  with  Lanigan  when  and  where  to  see  you 
again." 

"It  will  be  a  matter  of  some  difficulty,"  she  replied,  "for 
I  am  now  under  the  strictest  surveillance.  I  am  told,  and  I 
feel  it,  that  Whitecraft  has  placed  a  spy  upon  all  my  mo- 
tions." 

"  How  is  that  ?  "  inquired  Reilly.  "  Are  you  not  under 
the  protection  of  your  father,  who,  when  occasion  is  necessary, 
has  both  pride  and  spirit  .-*  " 

"  But  my  poor  credulous  father  is,  notwithstanding,  easily 
imposed  on.  I  know  not  exactly  the  particulars,"  replied  the 
lovely  girl,  "  but  I  can  easily  suspect  them.  My  father  it 
was,  certainly,  who  discharged  my  last  maid,  Ellen  Connor, 
because,  he  said,  he  did  not  like  her,  and  because,  he  added, 
he  would  put  a  better  and  a  more  trustworthy  one  in  her  place, 
I  cannot  move  that  she  is  not  either  with  me  or  after  me  ; 
nay,  I  cannot  write  a  note  that  she  does  not  immediately  ac- 
quaint papa,  who  is  certain  to  stroll  into  my  apartment  and 
ask  to  see  the  contents  of  it,  adding,  '  Helen,  when  a  young 
lady  of  rank  and  property  forms  a  clandestine  and  disgrace- 
ful attachment  it  is  time  thai  her  father  should  be  on  the  look- 
out ;  so  I  will  just  take  the  liberty  of  throwing  my  e3'e  over 
this  little  billet-doux'  I  told  him  often  that  he  was  at  liberty 
to  inspect  every  line  I  should  write,  but  that  I  thought  that 
very  few  parents  would  express  such  want  of  confidence  in 
their  daughters,  if,  like  me,  the  latter  had  deserved  such  con- 
fidence at  their  hands  as  I  did  at  his." 

"  What  is  the  name  of  your  present  maid  ?  "  asked  Reilly, 
musing. 

"Oh,"  replied  Miss  FoUiard,  "I  have  three  maids  alto- 


224 


WILLY  REILLY. 


gether,  but  she  has  been  installed  as  own  maid.  Her  name 
is  Eliza  Herbert." 

"  A  native  of  England,  is  she  not "  Eliza  Herbert  !  " 
he  exclaimed  ;  "  in  the  lowermost  depths  of  perdition  there 
is  not  such  a  villain.  This  Eliza  Herbert  is  neither  more  nor 
less  than  one  of  his — but  I  will  not  pain  your  pure  and  deli- 
cate mind  by  mentioning  at  further  length  what  she  is  and 
was  to  him.  The  clergyman  of  the  parish,  Mr.  Brown, 
knows  the  whole  circumstances.  See  him  at  church,  and  get 
him  to  communicate  them  to  your  father.  The  fact  is,  this 
villain,  who  is  at  once  cunning  and  parsimonious,  had  a 
double  motive,  each  equally  base  and  diabolical,  in  sending 
her  here.  In  the  first  place,  he  wished,  by  getting  her  a  good 
place,  to  make  your  father  the  unconscious  means  of  reward- 
ing her  profligacy  ;  and  in  the  second  of  keeping  her  as  a  spy 
upon  you." 

A  blush,  resulting  from  her  natural  sense  of  delicacy,  as 
well  as  from  the  deepest  indignation  at  a  man  who  did  not 
scruple  to  place  the  woman  whom  he  looked  upon  as  almost 
immediately  to  become  his  wife,  in  the  society  of  such  a 
wretch — such  a  blush,  we  say,  overspread  her  whole  neck 
and  face,  and  for  about  two  minutes  she  shed  bitter  tears. 
But  she  felt  the  necessity  of  terminating  their  interview,  from 
an  apprehension  that  Miss  Herbert,  as  she  was  called,  on  not 
finding  her  in  the  room,  might  institute  a  search,  and  in  this 
she  was  not  mistaken. 

She  had  scarcely  concluded  when  the  shrill  voice  of  Miss 
Herbert  was  heard,  as  she  rushed  rapidly  down  the  stairs, 
screaming,  "  Oh,  la  !  oh,  dear  me  !  oh,  my  goodness !  Where, 
where — oh,  bless  me,  did  any  one  see  Miss  Folliard  ?  " 

Lanigan,  however,  had  prepared  for  anything  like  a  sur- 
prise. He  planted  himself,  as  a  sentinel,  at  the  foot  of  the 
stairs,  and  the  moment  he  heard  the  alarm  of  Miss  Herbert 
on  her  way  down,  he  met  her  half  way  up,  after  having  given 
a  loud  significant  cough. 

"Oh,  cook,  have  you  seen  Miss  Folliard?  I  can't  find 
her  in  the  house  .-'  " 

"  Is  her  father  in  his  study,  Miss  Herbert  ?  because  I  want 
to  see  him  ;  I'm  afraid  there's  a  screw  loose.  I  did  see  Miss 
Folliard  ;  she  went  out  a  few  minutes  ago — indeed  she  rather 
stole  out  towards  the  garden,  and,  I  tell  you  the  truth,  she 
had  a  condemned  look  of  her  own.  Try  the  garden,  and  if 
you  don't  find  her  there,  go  to  the  back  gate,  which  you'll  be 
apt  to  find  open." 


WILLY  RElLl.y.  22.1; 

"  Oh,  I  will,  I  will  ;  thank  you,  cock.  I'm  certain  It's  an 
elopement." 

"  Indeed,  I  wouldn't  be  surprised  to  find,"  replied  Lani- 
gan,  "that  she  is  with  Reilly  at  this  ir.oment  ;  ary  way,  you 
haven't  a  minute  to  losv:.'' 

She  started  towards  the  garden,  which  she  ran  ovet  .xnd 
over  ;  and  there  we  shall  leave  her,  executing  the  fooKs  er- 
rand upon  which  Lanigan  had  sent  her.  "  Now,"  said  he, 
going  in,  "the  coast's  clear;  I  have  sent  that  impertinent 
jade  out  to  the  garden,  and  as  the  back  gate  is  open — the 
gardener's  men  are  wheeling  out  the  rubbish — and  they  are 
now  at  dinner — I  say,  as  the  back  gate  is  open,  it's  ten  to 
one  but  she'll  scour  the  country.  Now,  Miss  Folliard,  go  im- 
mediately to  your  room  ;  as  for  this  poor  man,  I  will  take 
care  of  him." 

"  Most  sincerely  do  I  thank  you,  Lanigan  ;  he  will  arrange 
with  you  when  and  where  to  see  me  again.  Farewell,  Reilly 
— farewell;  rely  upon  my  constancy  ;  "  and  so  they  parted, 
Reilly  to  the  kitchen,  and  the  Cooken  Bawn  to  her  own  room. 

"Come  into  the  pantry,  poor  man,"  said  the  good  natured 
Lanigan,  addressing  our  hero,  "  till  I  give  you  something  to 
eat  and  drink." 

"  Many  thanks  to  you,  sir,"  replied  he  ;  "troth  and  whaix, 
I  didn't  taste  a  morshel  for  the  last  fwhour — hugh — ugh — and 
twenty  hours  ;  and  sure,  sir,  it's  this  cough  that's  killin'  me 
by  inches." 

A  thought  struck  Lanigan,  who  had  been  also  spoken  to 
by  the  gardener,  about  half  an  hour  before,  to  know  if  he  could 
tell  him  where  he  might  have  any  chance  of  finding  an  as- 
sistant. At  all  events  they  went  into  the  pantry,  when  Lani- 
gan, after  having  pulled  to  the  door,  to  prevent  their  conver- 
sation from  being  overheard,  disclosed  a  project,  which  had 
just  entered  his  head,  of  procuring  Reilly  employment  in  the 
garden.  Here  it  was  arranged  between  them  that  the  latter, 
who  was  both  a  good  botanist  and  florist,  should  be  recom- 
mended to  the  gardener  as  an  assistant.  To  be  sure,  his 
dress  and  appearance  were  both  decidedly  against  him  ;  but 
still  they  relied  upon  the  knowledge  which  Reilly  confidently 
assured  the  cook  that  he  possessed.  After  leaving  the  pantry 
with  Lanigan,  whom  our  hero  thanked  in  a  thorough  brogue, 
the  former  called  after  him,  as  he  was  going  away  r 

"Come  here  again,  my  good  man." 

"What  is  it,  shir?  may  God  bless  you  anyhow,  for  your 
charity  to   the — hugh — hugh — ugh — to  the  poor  man.     Oh, 

i 


226  WILL  V  REILL  Y. 

then,  but  it's  no  wondher  for  you  all  to  be  fat  and  rosy  upon 
sich  beautiful  vittles  as  you  gave  to  me,  shir.  What  is  it, 
achora  ?  and  may  the  Lord  mark  you  wid  grace  !  " 

"Would  you  take  employment  from  the  master,  his  honor 
Mr.  Folliard,  if  you  got  it.?" 

"  Arrah  now,  shir,  you  gave  me  my  skinful  of  what  was 
gud  ;  but  don't  be  makin'  fwhun  o'  me  after.  Would  I  take 
employment,  achora } — ay,  but  where  would  I  get  it  ?  " 

"  Could  you  work  in  a  garden  ?  Do  you  know  anything 
about  plants  or  flowers?" 

"Oh  thin,  that  I  may  never  sup  sarra  (sorrow),  but  that's 
just  what  I'm  fwhit  fwhor." 

"  I'm  afeared  this  scoundrel  is  but  an  imposthor  afther 
all,"  whispered  Lanigan  to  the  other  servants  ;  "  but  in  ordher 
to  make  sure,  we'll  try  him.  1  say — what's  this  your  name 
is?" 

"  Solvesther  M'Bethershin,  shir." 

"  Well,  now,  would  you  have  any  objection  to  come  with 
me  to  the  garden  and  see  the  gardener?  But  hould,  here  he 
is.  Mr.  Malcomson,"  continued  Lanigan,  "here  is  a  poor 
man,  who  says  he  understands  plants  and  flowers,  and  weeds 
of  that  kind." 

"Speak  wi'  reverence,  Mr.  Lanigan,  o'  the  art  o'  gerden- 
ing.  Dinna  ye  ken  that  the  founder  o'  the  hail  human  race 
was  a  gardener  ?     Hout  awa,  mon  ;  speak  o'  it  wi'  respeck." 

"Upon  my  conscience,"  replied  Lanigan,  "whether  he 
was  a  good  gardener  or  not  is  more  than  I  know;  but  one 
thing  I  do  know,  that  he  didn't  hould  his  situation  long,  and 
mismanaged  his  orchard  disgracefully  ;  and,  indeed,  like  many 
more  of  his  tribe,  he  got  his  walkin'  papers  in  double  quick — 
was  dismissed  without  a  characther — ay,  and  his  wife,  like 
many  another  gardener's  wife,  got  a  habit  of  stalin'  the  apples. 
However,  I  wish,  Mr.  Malcomson,  that  you,  who  do  undher- 
stand  gardenin',  would  thry  this  fellow,  because  I  want  to 
know  whether  he's  an  imposthor  or  not." 

"  Wcel,"  replied  Malcomson,  "  I  dinna  care  if  I  do.  We'll 
soon  find  that  out.  Come  wi'  me  and  Maisther  Lanigan  here, 
and  we'll  see  what  you  ken  about  that  sceentific  profession." 

They  accordingly  went  to  the  garden,  and  it  is  unneces- 
sary to  say  that  Re'illy  not  only  bore  the  examination  well, 
but  proved  himself  by  far  the  better  botanist  of  the  two.  He 
tempered  his  answers,  however,  in  such  a  way  as  not  to  allow 
the  gardener's  vanity  to  be  hurt,  in  which  case  he  feared  that 
he  might  have  little  chance  of  being  engaged. 


WJLLY  KEJLLY  937 


CHAPTER  XV. 

MORE   OF    WHITECRAFTS    PLOTS    AND    PRANKS. 

On  the  Sunday  following,  Miss  Folliard,  as  was  her  usual 
custom,  attended  divine  service  at  her  parish  church,  ac- 
companied by  the  virtuous  Miss  Herbert,  who  scarcely  ever 
let  her  for  a  iiffonient  out  of  her  sight,  and,  in  fact,  added 
grievously  to  the  misery  of  her  life.  After  service  had  been 
concluded,  she  waited  until  Mr.  Brown  had  descended  from 
the  pulpit,  when  she  accosted  him,  and  expressed  a  wish  to 
have  some  private  conversation  with  him  in  the  vestry-room. 
To  this  room  they  were  about  to  proceed,  when  Miss  Herbert 
advanced  with  an  evident  intention  of  accompanying  them. 

"Mr.  Brown,"  said  the  Coolccn  Bawn,  looking  at  him  sig- 
nificantly, "  I  wish  that  our  interview  should  be  private." 

"  Certainly,  my  dear  Miss  Folliard,  and  so  it  shall  be. 
Pray,  who  is  this  lady?" 

"  I  am  forced,  sir,  to  call  her  my  maid." 

Mr.  Brown  was  startled  a  good  deal,  not  only  at  the  words, 
but  the  tone  in  which  they  were  uttered. 

"Madam,"  said  he,  "you  will  please  to  remain  here  until 
your  mistress  s:-all  return  to  you,  or,  if  you  wish,  you  can 
amuse  yourself  by  reading  the  inscriptions  on  the  tombstones." 

"Oh,  but  I  have  been  ordered,"  replied  Miss  Herbert, 
"by  her  father  and  another  gentleman,  not  to  let  her  out  cf 
my  sight." 

Mr.  Brown,  understanding  that  something  was  wrong,  now 
looked  at  her  more  closely,  after  which,  with  a  withering 
frown,  he  said, 

"  I  think  I  know  you,  madam,  and  I  am  very  sorry  to  hear 
that  you  are  an  attendant  upon  this  amiable  lady.  Remain 
where  you  are,  and  don't  attempt  to  intrude  yourself  as  an 
ear-witness  to  any  communication  Miss  Folliard  may  have  to 
make  to  me." 

The  profligate  creature  and  unprincipled  spy  bridled, 
looked  disdain  and  bitterness  at  the  amiable  clergyman,  who, 
accompanied  by  our  heroine,  retired  to  the  vestry.  It  is 
unnecessary  to  detail  their  conversation,  which  was  sustained 


2  a8  ^^^L  y  RE  ILL  Y. 

by  the  Cooleen  Bmvn  with  bitter  tears.  It  is  enough  to  say 
that  the  good  and  pious  minister,  though  not  aware  until  then 
that  Miss  Herbert  had,  by  the  scoundrel  baronet,  been  in- 
truded into  Squire  Folliard's  family,  was  yet  acquainted,  from 
peculiar  sources,  with  the  nature  of  the  immoral  relation  in 
which  she  stood  to  that  hypocrite.  He  felt  shocked  beyond 
belief,  and  assured  the  weeping  girl  that  he  would  call  the 
next  day  and  disclose  the  treacherous  design  to  her  father, 
who,  he  said,  could  not  possibly  have  been  aware  of  the 
wretch's  character  when  he  admitted  her  into  his  family. 
They  then  parted,  and  our  heroine  was  obliged  to  take  this 
vile  creature  into  the  carriage  with  her  home.  On  their  return, 
Miss  Herbert  began  to  display  at  once  the^malignity  of  her 
disposition,  and  the  volubility  of  her  tongue,  in  a  fierce  attack 
upon,  what  she  termed,  the  ungentlemanly  conduct  of  Mr. 
Brown.  To  all  she  said,  however,  Helen  uttered  not  one 
syllable  of  reply.  She  neither  looked  at  her  nor  noticed  her, 
but  sat  in  profound  silence,  not,  however,  without  a  distracted 
mind  and  breaking  heart. 

On  the  next  day  the  squire  took  a  fancy  to  look  at  the 
state  of  the  garden,  and,  having  got  his  hat  and  cane,  he 
sallied  out  to  observe  how  matters  were  going  on,  now  that 
Mr.  Malcomson  had  got  an  assistant,  whom,  by  the  way,  he 
had  not  yet  seen. 

"Now,  Malcomson,"  said  he,  "as  you  have  found  an 
assistant,  I  hope  you  will  soon  bring  my  garden  into  decent 
trim.  What  kind  of  a  chap  is  he,  and  how  did  you  come  bv 
him.?" 

"Saul,  your  honor,"  replied  Malcomson,  "he's  a  divilish 
clever  chiel,  and  vara  weel  acquent  wi'  our  noble  profession." 

"Confound  yourself  and  your  noble  profession  !  I  think 
every  Scotch  gardener  of  you  believes  himself  a  gentleman, 
simply  because  he  can  nail  a  few  stripes  of  old  blanket  against 
a  wall.      How  did  you  come  by  this  fellow,  I  say.?" 

"On,  just  through  Lanigan,  the  cook,  your  honor." 

"  Did  Lanigan  know  him  ?  " 

"  Hout,  no,  your  honor — it  was. an  act  o'  charity  like." 

"  Ay,  ay,  Lanigan's  a  kind-hearted  old  fool,  and  that's  just 
like  him  ;  but,  in  the  mean  time,  let  me  see  this  chap." 

"There  he  is,  your  honor,  trimming,  and  taking  care  of 
that  bed  of  'love-lies-bleeding.'" 

"  A/,  ay ;  I  dare  say  my  daughter  set  him  to  that  task." 

"  Na,  na,  sir.  The  young  leddy  hasna  seen  him  yet,  nor 
hasna  been  in  the  garden  for  the  last  week." 


WILLY  REILLY.  239 

"Why,  confound  it,  Malcomson,  that  fellow's  more  like  a 
begojarman  than  a  gardener."' 

''Saul,  but  he's  a  capital  hand  for  a'  that.  Your  honor's 
no'  to  tak  the  beuk  by  the  cover.  To  be  sure  he's  awfully 
vulgar,  but,  ma  faith,  'he  has  a  richt  gude  knowledgeable  ap- 
prehension o'  buttany  and  gerdening  in  generhal." 

The  squire  then  approached  our  under  gardener,  and  ac- 
costed him,  ,        ^^ 

"Well,  my  good  fellow,  so  you  understand  gardening? 

"A  little,  your  haner,"  replied  the  other,  respectfully 
touching  his  hat,  or  caubeen  rather. 

*'  Are  you  a  native  of  this  neighborhood  ?  " 

"  No,  your  haner.  I'm  fwaither  up— from  Westport,  your 
haner." 

"Who  were  you  engaged  with  last  ;  ' 

"  I  wasn't  engaged,  shir — it  was  onl\  job-work  I  was  able 
to  do — the  health  wasn't  gud  wid  me." 

"  Have  you  no  better  clothes  than  these?** 

"You  se'e  all  that  I  have  on  me,  shir." 

"Well,  come.  Til  give  you  the  price  of  a  suit  rather  than 
see  such  a  scarecrow  in  my  garden." 

"  I  couldn't  take  it,  shir." 

"The  devil  you  couldn't!     Why  not,  man?" 

"Bekaise,  shir,  I'm  under  pinance." 

"Well,  why  don't  you  shave?" 

"  I  can't,  shir,  for  de  same  raison." 

"  Pooh,  pooh  !  what  the  devil  did  you  do  that  they  put 
such  a  penance  on  you?" 

"  Why,  I  runned  away  wit'  a  young  woman,  shir." 

"  Upon  my  soul  vou're  a  devilish  likely  fellow  tc  run 
away  with  a  young  woman,  and  a  capital  taste  she  must  have 
had'  to  go  with  you  ;  but  perhaps  you  took  her  away  by 
violence,  eh  ? " 

"  No,  shir  ,  she  was  willln'  enough  to  come  ;  but  her  fad- 
her  wouldn't  consint,  and  so  we  made  off  wit'  ourselves." 

This  was  a  topic  on  which  the  squire,  for  obvious  reasons, 
did  not  like  to  press  him.  It  was  in  fact  a  sore  subject,  and, 
accordingly,  he  changed  it. 

"  I  suppose  you  have  been  about  the  country  a  good 
deal  ? " 

"  I  have,  indeed,  your  haner." 

"  Did  you  ever  happen  to  hear  of,  or  to  nuct  with,  a  per- 
son called  Reilly  ?  " 

"  Often,  shir  ;  met  many  o'  dem." 


23© 


WILL  V  REILL  Y. 


"Oh,  but  I  mean  the  scoundrel  called  Willy  Reilly.'* 

"  Is  dat  him  dat  left  de  country,  shir? " 

"  Why,  how  do  you  know  that  he  has  left  the  country  ?  " 

"I  don't  know  myself,  shir;  but  dat  de  people  does  be 
sayin'  it.  Dey  say  dat  himself  and  wan  of  our  bishops  went 
to  France  togeder." 

The  squire  seemed  to  breathe  more  freely  as  he  said,  in  a 
low  soliloquy,  "  I'm  devilish  glad  of  it ;  for,  after  all,  it  would 
go  against  my  heart  to  hang  the  fellow.  Well,"  he  said  aloud, 
"  so  he's  gone  to  France  ?  " 

"  So  de  people  does  be  sayin',  shir." 

"  Well,  tell  me — do  you  know  a  gentleman  called  Sir 
Robert  Whitecraft  ?  " 

"  Is  dat  him,  shir,  dat  keeps  de  misses  privately  ?  " 

"  How  do  you  know  that  he  keeps  misses  privately?" 

"  Fwhy,  shir,  dey  say  his  last  one  was  a  Miss  Herbert,  and 
dat  she  had  a  young  one  by  him,  and  dat  she  was  an  English- 
woman. It  isnit  ginerally  known,  I  believe,  shir,  but  dey  do 
be  sayin'  dat  she  was  brought  to  bed  in  de  cottage  of  some 
bad  woman  named  Mary  Mahon,  dat  does  be  on  de  lookout 
to  get  sweethearts  for  him." 

"There's  five  thirteens  for  you,  and  I  wish  to  God,  my 
good  fellow,  that  you  would  allow  yourself  to  be  put  in  better 
feathers." 

"  Oh,  I  expect  my  pinance  will  be  out  before  a  mont',  shir  \ 
but,  until  den,  I  couldn't  take  any  money." 

"  Malcomson,"  said  he  to  the  gardener,  "  I  think  that  fel- 
low's a  half  fool.  I  offered  him  a  crown,  and  also  said  I 
would  get  him  a  suit  of  clothes,  and  he  would  not  take 
either  ;  but  talked  about  some  silly  penance  he  was  under- 
going." 

"  Saul,  then,  3'our  honor,  he  may  be  a  fule  in  ither  things, 
but  de'il  a  ane  of  him's  a  fule  in  the  sceence  o'  buttany.  As 
to  that  penance,  it's  just  some  Papistrical  nonsense  he  has 
gotten  into  his  head — de'il  hae't  mair  ;  but  sure  they're  a'  full 
o't — a'  o'  the  same  graft,  an'  a  bad  one  I  fear  it  is." 

"  Well,  I  believe  so,  Malcomson,  I  believe  so.  However, 
if  the  unfortunate  fool  is  clever,  give  him  good  wages." 

"  Saul,  your  honor,  I'll  do  him  justice  ;  only  I  think  thai, 
anent  that  penance  he  speaks  o',  the  hail  Papish  population, 
bad  as  we  think  them,  are  suffering  penance  eneuch,  one  way 
or  tither.  It  disna'  beseem  a  Protestant — that  is,  a  prelatic 
Government — to  persecute  ony  portion  o'  Christian  people  on 
account  o'  their  religion-     We  have  fell  and  kenned  that  in 


WILL  Y  REILL  Y.  23 1 

Scotland  sairly.  I'm  no  freend  to  persecution,  in  ony  shape. 
But,  as  to  this  chiel,  I  ken  naething  aboot  him,  but  that  he  is 
a  gude  buttanist.  Hout,  your  honor,  to  be  sure  I'll  gi'e  him  a 
fair  wage  for  his  skeel  and  labor." 

Malcomson,  who  was  what  we  have  often  met,  a  pedant 
gardener,  saw,  however,  that  the  squire's  mind  was  disturbed. 
In  the  short  conversation  which  they  had,  he  spoke  abruptly, 
and  with  a  flushed  countenance  ;  but  he  was  too  shrewd  to  ask 
him  why  he  seemed  so.  It  was  not,  he  knew,  his  business  to 
do  so ;  and  as  the  squire  left  the  garden,  to  pass  into  the 
house,  he  looked  after  him,  and  exclaimed  to  himself,  "  my 
certie,  there's  a  bee  in  that  man's  bonnet." 

On  going  to  the  drawing-room,  the  squire  found  Mr. 
Brown  there,  and  Helen  in  tears. 

"How!"  he  exclaimed,  "  what  is  this?  Helen  crying! 
Why,  what's  the  matter,  my  child  1  Brown,  have  you  been 
scolding  her,  or  reading  her  a  homily  to  teach  her  repentance. 
Confound  me,  but  I  know  it  would  teach  her  patience,  at  all 
events.     What  is  the  matter  ?  " 

"  My  dear  Miss  Folliard,"  said  the  clergyman,  "  if  you 
will  have  the  goodness  to  withdraw,  I  will  explain  this  shock- 
ing business  to  your  father." 

"Shocking  business  !  Why,  in  God's  name,  Brown,  wjiat 
has  happened  ?  And  why  is  my  daughter  in  tears,  I  ask 
again  ?'' 

Helen  now  left  the  drawing-room,  and  Mr.  Brown  re- 
plied : 

"  Sir,  a  circumstance  which,  for  baseness  and  diabolical 
iniquity,  is  unparalleled  in  civilized  society.  I  could  not  pol- 
lute your  daughter's  ears  by  reciting  it  in  her  presence,  and 
besides  she  is  already  aware  of  it." 

"  Ay,  but  what  is  it  ?     Confound  you,  don't  keep  me  on 
tenter  hooks." 

"  I  shall  not  do  so  long,  my  clear  friend.  Who  do  you 
imagine  your  daughter's  maid — I  mean  that  female  attendant 
upon  your  pure-minded  and  virtuous  child — is  ?" 

"  Faith,  go  ask  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft.  It  was  he  who  rec- 
ommended her  ;  for,  on  hearing  that  the  maid  she  had,  Ellen 
Connor,  was  a  Papist,  he  said  he  felt  uneasy  lest  she  might 
prevail  on  my  daughter  to  turn  Catholic,  and  marry  Reilly." 

"But  do  you  not  know  who  the  young  woman  that  is  about 
your  daughter's  person  is  ?  You  are,  however,  a  father  who 
loves  your  child,  and  I  need  not  ask  such  a  question.  Then, 
sir,  I  will  tell  you  who  she  is,     Sir,  she  is  one  of  Sir  Robert 


232 


WILLY  REILLY. 


Whitecraft's  cast-off  mistresses — a  profligate  wanton,  who  has 
had  a  child  by  him." 

The  fiery  old  squire  had  been  walking  to  and  fro  the 
room,  in  a  state  of  considerable  agitation  before — his  mind 
already  charged  with  the  same  intelligence,  as  he  had  heard 
it  from  the  gardener  (Reilly).  He  now  threw  himself  into  a 
chair,  and  putting  his  hands  before  his  face,  muttered  out 
between  his  fingers — "  D — n  seize  the  villain  !  It  is  true, 
then.  Well,  never  mind,  I'll  demand  satisfaction  for  this  in- 
sult ;  I  am  not  too  old  to  pull  a  trigger,  or  give  a  thrust  yet; 
but  then  the  cowardly  hypocrite  won't  fight.  When  he  has 
a  set  of  military  at  his  back,  and  a  parcel  of  unarmed  peas- 
ants before  him,  or  an  unfortunate  priest  or  two,  why,  he's  a 
dare  devil — Hector  was  nothing  to  him  ;  no,  confound  me, 
nor  mad  Tom  Simpson,  that  wears  a  sword  on  each  side,  and 
a  double  case  of  pistols,  to  frighten  the  bailiffs.  The  scoun- 
drel of  hell ! — to  impose  on  me,  and  insult  my  child  !  " 

"  Mr.  Folliard,"  observed  the  clergyman  calmly,  "  I  can 
indeed  scarcely  blame  your  indignation  ;  it  is  natural ;  but, 
at  the  same  time,  it  is.  useless  and  unavailable.  Be  cool,  and 
restrain  your  temper.  Of  course,  you  could  not  think  of  be- 
stowing your  daughter,  in  marriage,  upon  this  man." 

•*'  I  tell  you  what.  Brown — I  tell  you  what,  my  dear  friend 
— let  the  devil,  Satan,  Beelzebub,  or  whatever  j'ou  call  him 
from  the  pulpit — I  say,  let  him  come  here  any  time  he 
pleases,  in  his  holiday  hoofs  and  horns,  tail  and  all,  and  he 
shall  have  her  sooner  than  Whitecraft." 

Mr.  Brown  could  not  help  smiling,  whilst  he  said  : 

"  Of  course,  you  will  instantly  dismiss  this  abandoned 
creature." 

He  started  up,  and  exclaimed,  "  Cog's  'ounds,  what  am  I 
about  ?  "  He  instantly  rang  the  bell,  and  a  footman  attended. 
"John,  desire  that  wench  Herbert  to  come  here." 

*'  Do  you  mean  Miss  Herbert,  sir  ?  " 

"  I  do — Miss  Herbert — egad,  you've  hit  it ;  be  quick, 
sirra." 

John  bowed  and  withdrew,  and  in  a  few  minutes  Miss 
Herbert  entered. 

"  Miss  Herbert,"  said  the  Squire,  "  leave  this  house  as 
fast  as  the  devil  can  drive  you  ;  and  he  has  driven  you  to 
some  purpose  before  now  ;  ay,  and  I  dare  say,  will  again.  I 
say,  then,  as  fast  as  he  can  drive  you,  pack  up  your  luggage, 
and  begone  about  your  business.  I'll  just  give  you  ten 
minutes  to  disappear." 


IVILL  Y  REILL  Y. 


a33 


•What's  all  this  about,  master?" 

*'  Master  ! — why,  curse  your  brazen  impudence,  how  dare 
you  call  me  master?     Begone,  you  jade  of  perdition." 

"  No  more  a  jade  of  perdition,  sir,  then  you  are  ;  nor  I 
sha'n't  begone  till  I  gets  a  quarter's  wages — I  tell  you  that." 

"You  shall  get  whatever's  coming  to  you;  not  another 
penny.     I'he  house-steward  will  pay  you — begone,  I  say  !  " 

"  No,  sir,  I  sha'n't  begone  till  I  gets  a  quarter's  salary  in 
full.  You  broke  your  agreement  with  me,  wich  is  wat  no  man 
as  is  a  gentleman  would  do  ;  and  you  are  puttin'  me  away, 
too,  without  no  cause." 

"  Cause,  you  vagabond  !  you'll  find  the  cause  squalling,  I 
suppose,  in  Mary  Mahon's  cottage,  somewhere  near  Sir 
Robert  Whitecraft's  ;  and  when  you  see  him,  tell  him  I  have 
a  crow  to  pluck  with  him.     Off,  I  say." 

*'  Oh,  I  suppose  you  mean  the  love-child  I  had  by  him — 
ha,  ha  I  is  that  all  ?  But  I  never  had  a  hankerin'  after  a 
rebel  and  a  Papist,  which  is  far  worser  ;  and  I  now  tell  you 
you're  no  gentlemen,  you  nasty  old  Hirish  squire.  You 
brought  me  here,  and  Sir  Robert  sent  me  here,  to  watch  your 
daughter.  Now,  what  kind  of  a  young  lady  must  she  be  as 
requires  watching  ?  /was  never  watched  ;  because  as  how  I 
was  well  conducted,  and  nothing  could  ever  be  laid  to  my 
charge  but  a  love-child." 

"  By  the  great  Boyne,"  he  exclaimed,  running  to  the  win- 
dow and  throwing  up  the  sash — "  yes,  by  the  great  Boyne, 
there  is  Tom  Steeple,  and  if  he  doesn't  bring  you  and  the 
pump  acquainted,  I'm  rather  mistaken.  Here,  Tom,  I  have 
a  job  for  you.     Do  you  wish  to  earn  a  bully  dinner,  my  boy  ?  " 

"Miss  Herbert,  on  hearing  Tom's  name  mentioned,  dis- 
appeared like  lightning,  and  set  about  packing  her  things  im- 
mediately. The  steward,  by  his  master's  desire,  paid  her 
exactly  what  was  due  to  her,  which  she  received  without  mak- 
ing a  single  observation.  In  truth,  she  entertained  such  a 
terror  of  Tom  Steeple,  who  had  been  pointed  out  to  her  as  a 
wild  Irishman,  not  long  caught  in  the  mountains,  that  she 
stole  out  by  the  back  way,  and  came,  by  making  a  circuit,  out 
upon  the  road  that  led  to  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft's  house, 
which  she  passed  without  entering,  but  went  directly  to  Mary 
Mahon's,  who  had  provided  a  nurse  for  her  illegitimate  cliild 
in  the  neighborhood.  She  had  not  been  there  long  when  she 
sent  her  trusty  friend,  Mary,  to  acquaint  Sir  Robert  with  what 
had  happened.  He  was  from  home,  engaged  in  an  expedi- 
ion  of  which  we  feel  called  upon  to  give  some  account  to  the 
reader. 


234  ^^^^  y  RE  ILL  Y. 

At  this  period,  when  the  persecution  ran  high  against  the 
Catholics,  but  witli  peculiar  bitterness  against  their  priest- 
hood, it  is  but  justice  to  a  great  number  of  the  Protestant 
magistracy  and  gentry — nay,  and  many  of  the  nobility  besides 
— to  state  that  their  conduct  was  both  liberal  and  generous 
to  the  unfortunate  victims  of  those  cruel  laws.  It  is  a  well- 
known  fact  that  many  Protestant  justices  of  the  peace  were 
imprisoned  for  refusing  to  execute  such  oppressiv-  edi^t:-  as 
had  gone  abroad  through  the  country.  Manv  of  them  re- 
signed their  commissions,  and  many  were  deprived  of  them. 
Amongst  the  latter  were  several  liberal  noblemen — Piotes- 
tants — who  had  sufficient  courage  to  denounce  the  splr.t  in 
which  the  country  was  governed  and  depopulated  at  the  same 
time.  One  of  the  latter — a  nobleman  of  the  highest  rank  and 
acquirements,  and  of  the  most  amiable  disposition,  a  warm 
friend  to  civil  freedom,  and  a  firm  antagonist  to  persecution 
and  oppression  of  every  hue — this  nobleman,  we  say,  married 
a  French  lady  of  rank  and  fortune,  who  was  a  Catholic,  and 
with  whom  he  lived  in  the  tenderest  love,  and  the  utmost  do- 
mestic felicity.  The  lady  being  a  Catholic,  as  we  said, 
brought  over  with  her  from  France,  a  learned,  pious,  and 
venerable  ecclesiastic,  as  her  domestic  chaplain  and  confes- 
sor. This  man  had  been  professor  of  divinity  for  several 
years  in  the  college  of  Louvain  ;  but  having  lost  his  health, 
he  accepted  a  small  living  near  the  chateau  of ,  the  resi- 
dence of  Marquis   De ,  in   whose  establishment  he  was 

domesticated  as  chaplain.     In  short,  he   accompanied  Lord 

and   his    lady  to  Ireland,  where   he  acted   in  the  same 

capacity,  but  so  far  only  as  the  lady  was  concerned  ;  for,  as 
we  have  already  said,  her  husband,  though  a  liberal  man,  w'as 
a  firm  but  not  a  bigoted  Protestant.  This  harmless  old  man, 
as  was  very  natural,  kept  up  a  correspondence  with  several 
Irish  and  French  clergymen,  his  friends,  who,  as  he  had  done, 
held  professoisnips  in  the  same  college.  Many  of  the  Irish 
clergymen,  kno.ving  the  dearth  of  religious  instruction  which, 
in  consequence  of  the  severe  state  of  the  laws,  then  existed 
in  Ireland,  were  naturally  anxious  to  know  the  condition  of 
the  country,  and  whether  or  not  any  relaxation  in  their  sever- 
ity had  taken  place,  with  a  hope  that  they  might  be  able  with 
safety  to  return  to  the  mission  here,  and  bestow  spiritual  aid 
and  consolation  to  the  suffering  and  necessarily  neglected 
folds  of  their  own  persuasion.  On  this  harmless  and  pious 
old  man  the  eye  of  Hennessy  rested.  In  point  of  fact  he  set 
hini  for  Sir  Robert  Wl^iitecraft,  to  whom  he  represented  him 


WILLY  REILLY. 


235 


as  a  spy  from  France,  and  an  active  agent  of  the  Catholic 
priesthood,  both  here  and  on  the  Continent  ;  in  fact,  an  in- 
cendiary, who,  feeling  himself  sheltered  by  the  protection  of 
the  nobleman  in  question  and  his-  countess,  was  looked  upon 
as  a  safe  man  with  whom  to  hold  correspondence.  The  Abbe, 
as  they  termed  him,  was  in  the  habit,  by  his  lordship's  desire, 
and  that  ot  his  lady,  of  attending  the  Catholic  sick  of  his 
larga  estates,  administering  to  them  religious  instruction,  and 
the  ordinance  of  their  Church,  at  a  time  when  they  could  ob- 
tain them  from  no  other  source.  He  also  acted  as  their  al- 
moner, and  distributed  relief  to  the  sick,  the  poor,  and  the 
distressed,  and  thus  passed  his  pious,  harmless,  and  inoffen- 
sive, but  useful  life.  Now  all  these  circumstances  were  noted 
by  Hennessy,  who  had  been  on  the  look-out,  to  make  a  pres- 
ent of  this  good  old  man  to  his  new  patron,  Sir  Robert.  At 
length  having  discovered — by  what  means  it  is  impossible 
to  conjecture — that  the  Abbe  was  to  go  on  the  day  in  question 
to  relieve  a  poor  sick  family,  at  about  a  distance  of  two  miles 

from   Castle  ,   the    intelligence    was   communicated   b)'' 

Hennessy  to  Sir  Robert,  who  immediately  set  out  for  the 
place,  attended  by  a  party  of  his  myrmidons,  conducted  to  it 
by  the  Red  Rapparee,  who,  as  we  have  said,  was  now  one  of 
Whitecraft's  band.  There  is  often  a  stupid  infatuation  in 
villany  which  amounts  to  what  they  call  in  Scotland/^j' — that 
is,  when  a  man  goes  on  doggedly  to  commit  some  act  of 
wickedness,  or  rush  upon  some  impracticable  enterprise,  the 
danger  and  folly  of  which  must  be  evident  to  every  person 
but  himself,  and  that  it  will  end  in  the  loss  of  his  life.  Sir 
Robert,  however,  had  run  a  long  and  prosperous  career  of 
persecution — a  career  by  which  he  enriched  himself  by  the 
spoils  he  had  torn,  and  the  property  he  had  wrested  from  his 
victims,  generally  under  the  sanction  of  government,  but 
very  frequently  under  no  other  sanction  than  his  own.  At 
all  events  the  party,  consisting  of  about  thirty  men,  remained 
in  a  deep  and  narrow  lane,  surrounded  by  high  whitethorn 
hedges,  which  prevented  the  horsemen — for  they  were  all 
dragoons — from  being  noticed  by  the  country  peojik.  Alas, 
for  the  poor  Abbe  !  they  had  not  remained  more  than  twenty 
minutes  when  he  was  seen  approaching  ihem,  reading  his 
breviary  as  he  came  along.  They  did  not  move,  however, 
nor  seem  to  notice  him,  until  he  had  got  into  the  midst  of 
them,  when  they  formed  a  circle  round  him,  and  the  loud 
voice  of  Whitecraft  commanded  him  to  stand.  The  poor  old 
priest  closed  his  breviary,  and  looked  around  him  ;  but  he 


236  WILL  V  RETLL  Y. 

felt  no  alarm,  because  he  was  conscious  of  no  offence,  and 
imagined  himself  safe  under  the  protection  of  a  distinguished 
Protestant  nobleman. 

"  Gentlemen."  said  tie,  calmly  and  meekly,  but  without 
fear,  "  what  is  the  cause  of  this  conduct  towards  an  inoffen- 
sive old  man  I  It  is  true  I  am  a  Catholic  priest,  but  I  am 
under  the  j  rotection  of  the  Marquis  of .  He  is  a  Prot- 
estant nobleman,  and  I  am  sure  the  very  mention  of  his 
name  will  satisfy  you,  that  I  cannot  be  the  object  either  of 
your  suspicion  or  your  enmity." 

"  But,  my  dear  sir,"  replied  Sir  Robert,  "  the  nobleman 
you  mention  is  a  suspected  man  himself,  and  I  have  reported 
him  as  such  to  the  government.  He  is  married  to  a  Popish 
wife,  and  you  are  a  seminary  priest  and  harbored  by  her  and 
her  husbai  d." 

"  But  what  is  your  object  in  stopping  and  surrounding 
me,"  asked  the  priest,  "  as  if  T  were  some  public  delinquent 
who  had  violated  the  laws  ?  Allow  me,  sir.  to  pass,  and  pre- 
vent me  at  your  peril ;  and  permit  me,  before  I  proceed,  to 
ask  your  name.^"  and  the  old  man's  eyes  flashed  with  an  in- 
dignant sense  of  the  treatment  he  was  receiving. 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  of  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  ?  " 

"  The  priest-hunter,  the  persecutor,  the  robber,  the  mur- 
derer.'' I  did,  with  disgust,  with  horror,  with  execration.  If 
you  art  he,  I  say  to  you  that  I  am,  as  you  see,  an  old  man, 
and  a  priest,  and  have  but  one  life  ;  take  it,  you  will  antici- 
pate my  death  only  by  a  short  period  ;  but  I  look  by  the  light 
of  an  innocent  conscience  into  the  future,  and  I  now  tell  you 
that  a  woful  and  terrible  retribution  is.  hanging  over  vour 
head." 

"  In  the  mean  time,"  said  Sir  Robert,  very  calmly,  as  he 
dismounted  from  his  horse,  which  he  desired  one  of  the  men 
to  hold,  "  I  have  a  warrant  from  government  to  arrest  you, 
and  send  you  back  again  to  your  own  country  without  delay. 
You  are  here  as  a  spy,  an  incendiary,  and  must  go  on  your 
travels  forthwith.  In  this,  I  am  acting  as  your  friend  and 
protector,  and  so  is  government,  who  do  not  wish  to  be  se- 
vere upon  you,  as  you  are  not  a  natural  subject.  See,  sir, 
here  is  another  warrant  for  your  arrest  and  imprisonment. 
The  fact  is,  it  was  left  to  my  own  discretion,  either  to  im- 
prison you,  or  send  you  out  of  the  country.  Now,  sir,  from  a 
principle  of  lenity,  I  am  determined  on  the  latter  course." 

"  I3ut,"  replied  the  priest,  after  casting  his  eye  over  both 
documents,  "  as  I  am  conscious  of  no  offence,  either  against 


WILLY  kETLLY.  237 

your  laws  or  your  government.  I  decline  to  fly  like  a  crimi- 
nal, and  I  will  not  ;  put  me  in  prison,  if  you  wish,  but  I  cer- 
tainly shall  not  criminate  myself,  knowing  as  I  do  that  I  am 
innocent.  In  the  mean  time,  I  request  that  you  will  accom- 
pany me  to  the  castle  of  my  patron,  that  I  may  acquaint  him 
with  the  charges  against  me,  and  the  cause  of  my  being  forced 
to  leave  his  family  for  a  time." 

"No,  sir,"  replied  Whitecraft,  "I  cannot  do  so,  unless  I 
betray  the  trust  which  Government  reposes  in  me.  I  can- 
not permit  you  to  hold  any  intercourse  whatever  with  your 
patron,  as  you  call  him,  who  is  justly  suspected  of  being  a 
Papist  at  heart.  Sir,  you  have  been  going  abroad  through 
the  country,  under  pretence  of  administering  consolation  to 
the  sick,  and  bestowing  alms  upon  the  poor  ;  but  the  fact  is, 
you  have  been  stirring  them  up  to  sedition,  if  not  to  open 
rebellion.  You  must,  therefore,  come  along  with  us,  this 
instant.  You  proceed  with  us  to  Sligo,  from  whence  we 
shall  ship  you  oi^  in  a  vessel  bound  for  France,  which  vessel 
is  commanded  by  a  friend  of  mine,  who  will  treat  you 
kindly,  for  my  sake.  What  shall  we  do  for  a  horse  for 
him  ? "  he  asked,  looking  at  his  men  for  information  on  that 
point. 

"That,  your  honor,  we'll  provide  in  a  crack,"  replied  the 
Red  Rapparee,  looking  up  the  road  ;  "here  comes  Sterling, 
the  ganger,  very  well  mounted,  and,  by  all  the  stills  he  ever 
seized,  he  must  walk  home  upon  shank's  mare,  if  it  was  only 
to  give  him  exercise  and  improve  his  appetite." 

We  need  not  detail  this  open  robbery  on  the  king's  offi- 
cer, and  on  the  king's  highway  besides.  It  is  enough  to  say 
that  the  Rapparee,  confident  of  protection  and  impunity,  with 
the  connivance,  although  not  by  the  express  orders  of  the 
baronet,  deprived  the  man  of  his  horse,  and,  in  a  few  minutes, 
the  poor  old  priest  was  placed  upon  the  saddle,  and  the 
whole  cavalcade  proceeded  on  their  way  to  Sligo,  the  priest 
in  the  centre  of  them.  Fortunately  for  Sir  Robert's  pro- 
ject, they  reached  the  quay  just  as  the  vessel  alluded  to 
was  about  to  sail  ;  and  as  there  was,  at  that  period,  no 
novelty  in  seeing  _a  priest  shipped  out  of  the  country,  the 
loungers  about  the  place,  whatever  they  might  have  thought 
in  their  hearts,  seemed  to  take  no  particular  notice  of  the 
transaction. 

"Your  honor,"  said  the  Red  Rapparee,  approaching  and 
giving  a  military  salute  to  his  patron,  "  will  you  allow  me  to 
remain  in  town  for  an  hour  or  two  ?    I  have  a  scheme  in  my 


238  ^^^'  ^'  ^  RETLL  Y. 

head  that  may  come  to  something,  I  will  tell  your  honor 
what  it  is  when  I  get  home," 

"  Very  well,  O'Donnel,"  replied  Sir  Robert ;  "  but  I'd  ad- 
vise you  not  to  ride  late,  if  you  can  avoid  it.  You  know  that 
every  man  in  your  uniform  is  a  mark  for  the  vindictive  resent- 
ment of  these  Popish  rebels," 

"  Ah  !  maybe  I  don't  know  that,  your  honor  ;  but  you  may 
take  niy  word  for  it  that  I  will  lose  little  time,'' 

He  then  rode  down  a  by-street,  very  coolly,  taking  the 
ganger's  horse  along  with  him.  The  reader  may  remember 
the  fable  of  the  cat  that  had  been  transformed  into  a  lady, 
and  the  unfortunate  mouse.  The  Rapparee,  whose  original 
propensities  were  strong  as  ever,  could  not,  for  the  soul  of 
him,  resist  the  temptation  of  selling  the  horse  and  pocket- 
ing the  amount.  He  did  so,  and  very  deliberately  pro- 
ceeded home  to  his  barracks,  but  took  care  to  avoid  any 
private  communication  with  his  patron  for  some  days,  lest 
he  might  question  him  as  to  what  he  had  done  with  the 
animal. 

In  the  mean  time,  this  monstrous  outrage  upon  an  un- 
offending priest,  who  was  a  natural  subject  of  France,  per- 
petrated, as  it  was,  in  the  open  face  of  day,  and  witnessed  by 
so  many,  could  not,  as  the  reader  may  expect,  be  long  con- 
cealed.    It  soon  reached  the  ears  of  the  Marquis  of and 

his  lady,  who  were  deeply  distressed  at  the  disappearance  of 
their  aged  and  revered  friend.  The  Marquis,  on  satisfying 
himself  of  the  truth  of  the  report,  did  not,  as  might  have 
been  expected,  wait  upon  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft;  but  without 
loss  of  time  set  sail  for  London,  to  wait  upon  the  French 
Ambassador,  to  whom  he  detailed  the  whole  circumstances 
of  the  outrage.  And  here  we  shall  not  further  proceed  with 
an  account  of  those  circumstances,  as  they  will  necessarily 
intermingle  with  that  portion  of  the  narrative  which  is  to 
follow. 


WILL  V  REILL  Y.  23^^ 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

SIR    ROBERT    INGENIOUSLY    EXTRICATES     HIMSELF    OUT    OF    A 
GREAT    DIFFICULTY. 

On  the  day  after  the  outrage  we  have  described,  the  in- 
dignant old  squire's  carriage  stopped  at  the  hall-door  of  Sir 
Robert  Whitecraft,  whom  he  found  at  home.  As  j-et,  the 
latter  gentleman  had  heard  nothing  oi  the  contumelious  dis- 
missal of  Miss  Herbert  ;  but  the  old  squire  was  not  ignorant 
of  the  felonious  abduction  of  the  priest.  At  any  other  time, 
that  is  to  say,  in  some  of  his  peculiar  stretches  of  loyalty,  the 
act  might  have  been  a  feather  in  the  cap  of  the  loyal  baronet ; 
but,  at  present,  he  looked  both  at  him  and  his  exploits 
through  the  medium  of  the  insult  he  had  offered  to  his 
daughter.  Accordingly,  when  he  entered  the  baronet's  li- 
brary, where  he  found  him  literally  sunk  in  papers,  anonymous 
letters,  warrants,  reports  to  government,  and  a  vast  variety 
of  other  documents,  the  worthy  Sir  Robert  rose,  and  in  the 
most  cordial  manner,  and  with  the  most  extraordinary  suavity 
of  aspect,  held  out  his  hand,  saying  : 

"  How  much  obliged  am  I,  Mr.  Folliard,  at  the  kindness 
of  this  visit,  especially  from  one  who  keeps  at  home  so  much 
as  you  do." 

The  squire  instantly  repulsed  him,  and  replied  : 

'*  No,  sir  ;  I  am  an  honest,  and,  I  trust,  an  honorable 
man.  My  hand,  therefore,  shall  never  touch  that  of  a  vil- 
lain.' 

"  A  villain  ! — why,  Mr.  Folliard,  these  are  hard  and  harsh 
words,  and  they  surprise  me,  indeed,  as  proceeding  from 
your  lips.  May  I  beg,  my  friend,  that  you  will  explain  your- 
self ?  " 

"  I  will,  sir.  How  durst  you  take  the  liberty  of  sending 
one  of  your  cast-off  strumpets  to  attend  personally  upon  my 
pure  and  virtuous  daughter  ?  For  that  insult  I  come  this  day 
to  demand  thac  s  tisfaction  which  is  due  to  the  outraged  feel- 
ings of  my  daughter — to  my  own  also,  as  her  father  and 
natural  protecor,  and  also  as  an  Irish  gentleman,  who  will 
brook  no  insult  either  to  his  family  or  himself.  I  say,  then, 
name  your  time  and  place,  and  your  weapon — sword  or  pistol, 
I  don't  care  which,  I  am  ready." 


24* 


WILL  y  RE  ILL  v. 


"  But,  my  good  sir,  there  is  some  mystery  here  ;  I  cei^ 
tainly  engaged  a  female  of  that  name  to  attend  on  Miss  Fol- 
liard,  but  most  assuredly  she  was  a  well-conducted  person." 

"  What !  Madam  Herbert  well  conducted  !  Do  you  imag- 
ine, sir,  that  I  am  a  fool  ?  Did  she  not  admit  that  you  de- 
bauched her?" 

*'  It  could  not  be,  Mr.  FoUiard ;  1  know  nothing  whatso- 
ever about  her,  except  that  she  was  daughter  to  one  of  my 
tenants,  who  is  besides  a  sergeant  of  dragoons." 

"  Ah,  yes,  sir,"  replied  the  squire  sarcastically  ;  "  and  I 
tell  you  it  was  not  for  killing  and  eating  the  enemy  that  he 
was  promoted  to  his  sergeantship.  But  1  see  your  manoeuvre, 
Sir  Robert ;  you  wish  to  shift  the  conversation,  and  sleep  in 
a  whole  skin.  I  say  now,  I  have  provided  myself  with  a 
friend,  and  I  ask,  will  you  fight  ?  " 

"  And  why  not  have  sent  your  friend,  Mr.  Folliard,  as  is 
usual  upon  such  occasions  ?" 

"  Because  he  is  knocked  up,  after  a  fit  of  drink,  and  I 
cannot  be  just  so  cool,  under  such  an  insult,  as  to  command 
patience  to  wait.  My  friend,  however,  will  attend  us  on  the 
ground;  but,  I  ask  again,  will  you  fight?" 

"  Most  assuredly  not,  sir  ;  I  am  an  enemy  to  duelling  on 
principle  ;  but  in  your  case  I  could  not  think  of  it,  even  if  I 
were  not.  What !  raise  my  hand  against  the  life  of  Helen's 
father  ! — no,  sir,  I'd  sooner  die  than  do  so.  Besides,  Mr. 
Folliard,  I  am,  so  to  speak,  not  my  own  property,  but  that  of 
my  King,  my  government,  and  my  country  ;  and  under  these 
circumstances  not  at  liberty  to  dispose  of  my  life,  unless  in 
their  quarrel." 

"  I  see,"  replied  the  squire  bitterly  j  "  it  is  certainly  an 
admirable  description  of  loyalty  that  enables  a  man,  who  is 
base  enough  to  insult  the  very  woman  who  was  about  to  be- 
come his  wife,  and  to  involve  her  own  father  in  the  insult,  to 
ensconce  himself,  like  a  coward,  behind  his  loyalty,  and  refuse 
to  give  the  satisfaction  of  a  man,  or  a  gentleman." 

"  But,  Mr.  Folliard,  will  you  hear  me  ?  there  must,  as  I 
said,  be  some  mystery  here  ;  I  certainly  did  recommend  a 
young  female  named  Herbert  to  you,  but  I  was  utterly  igno- 
rant of  what  you  mention." 

Here  the  footman  entered,  and  whispered  something  to 
Sir  Robert,  who  apologized  to  the  squire  for  leaving  him  two 
or  three  minutes.  "  Here  is  the  last  paper,"  said  he,  "  and  I 
trust  that  before  you  go  I  will  be  able  to  remove  clearly  and 
fully  the   prejudices  which   you   entertain    against   me,  and 


WILLY  REILLY.  241 

which  originate,  so  far  as  I  am  concerned,  in  a  mystery  which 
I  am  unable  to  penetrate." 

He  then  followed  the  servant,  who  conducted  him  to  Hen- 
nessy,  whom  he  found  in  the  back  parlor. 

"Well,  Mr.  Hennessy,"  said  he,  impatiently,  "what  is  the 
matter  now  ? " 

"  Why,"  replied  the  other,  "  I  have  one  as  good  as  bagged, 
Sir  Robert." 

"One  what?" 

"  Why,  a  priest,  sir." 

"  Well,  Mr.  Hennessy,  I  am  particularly  engaged  now  ; 
but  as  to  Reilly,  can  you  not  come  upon  his  trail  ?  I  would 
rather  have  him  than  a  dozen  priests  ;  however,  remain  here 
for  about  twenty  minutes,  or  say  half  an  hour,  and  I  will  talk 
with  you  at  more  length.  For  the  present  I  am  most  partic- 
ularly engaged." 

"  Very  well.  Sir  Robert,  I  shall  wait  your  leisure  ;  but,  as 
to  Reilly,  I  have  every  reason  to  think  that  he  has  left  the 
country." 

Sir  Robert,  on  going  into  the  hall,  saw  the  porter  open  the 
door,  and  Miss  Herbert  presented  herself. 

"  Oh,"  said  he,  "  is  this  you  ?  I  am  glad  you  came ;  fol- 
low me  into  the  front  parlor." 

She  accordingly  did  so  ;  and  after  he  had  shut  the  door 
he  addressed  her  as  follows  : 

"  Now,  tell  me  how  the  devil  you  were  discovered  ;  or 
were  you  accessory  yourself  to  the  discovery,  by  your  egregi- 
ous folly  and  vanity  ?  " 

"  Oh,  la,  Sir  Robert,  do  you  think  I  am  a  fool  ?  " 

"  I  fear  you  are  little  short  of  it,"  he  replied  ;  "  at  all 
events,  you  have  succeeded  in  knocking  up  my  marriage 
with  Miss  Folliard.  How  did  it  happen  that  they  found  you 
out  ?  " 

She  then  detailed  to  him  the  circumstances  exactly  as  the 
reader  is  acquainted  with  them. 

He  paused  for  some  time,  and  then  said,  "  There  is  some 
mystery  at  the  bottom  of  this  which  I  must  fathom.  Have 
you  any  reason  to  know  how  the  family  became  acquainted 
with  your  history  ?  " 

"  No,  sir  ;  not  in  the  least." 

"  Do  you  think  Miss  Folliard  meets  any  person  pri- 
vately ? " 

"  Not,  sir,  while  I  was  with  her." 

*'  Did  she  ever  attempt  to  go  out  by  herself  ?  " 
t6 


243  ^I^L  V  REILL  Y. 

"■  Not,  sir, while  I  was  with  her." 

"Very  well,  then,  I'll  tell  you  what  you  must  do;  her 
father  is  above  with  me  now,  in  a  perfect  hurricane  of  indig- 
nation. Now  you  must  say  that  the  girl  Herbert,  whom  I 
recommended  to  the  squire,  was  a  friend  of  yours  ;  that  she 
gave  you  the  letter  of  recommendation  which  I  gave  her  to 
Mr.  Folliard  ;  that  having  married  her  sweetheart  and  left  the 
country  with  him,  you  were  tempted  to  present  yourself  in  her 
stead,  and  to  assume  her  name.  I  will  call  you  up  by  and 
by  ;  but  what  name  will  you  take  ?  " 

"  My  mother's  name,  sir,  was  Wilson." 

"  Very  good  ;  what  was  her  Christian  name  ?  " 

"  Catherine,  sir." 

'•  And  you  must  say  that  I  knew  nothing  whatsoever  of 
the  imposture  you  were  guilty  of.  I  shall  make  it  worth  your 
while  ;  and  if  you  don't  get  well  through  with  it,  and  enable 
me  to  bamboozle  the  old  fellow,  I  have  done  with  you.  I 
shall  send  for  you  by  and  by." 

He  then  joined  the  squire,  who  was  walking  impatiently 
about  the  room. 

"  Mr.  Folliard,"  said  he,  *'  I  have  to  apologize  to  you  for 
this  seeming  neglect ;  I  had  most  important  business  to 
transact,  and  I  merely  went  down  stairs  to  tell  the  gentleman 
that  I  could  not  possibly  attend  to  it  now,  and  to  request  him 
to  come  in  a  couple  of  hours  hence  ;  pray  excuse  me,  for  no 
business  could  be  so  important  as  that  in  which  I  am  now 
engaged  with  you." 

"  Yes,  but  in  the  name  of  an  outraged  father,  I  demand 
again  to  know  whether  you  will  give  me  satisfaction  or 
not?" 

"  I  have  already  answered  you,  my  dear  sir,  and  if  you  will 
reflect  upon  the  reasons  I  have  given  you,  I  am  certain  you 
will  admit  that  I  have  the  laws  both  of  God  and  of  man  on 
my  side,  and  I  feel  it  my  duty  to  regulate  my  conduct  by 
both.  As  to  the  charge  you  bring  against  me,  about  the 
girl  Herbert,  I  am  both  ignorant  and  innocent  of  it. 

"  Why,  sir,  how  can  you  say  so?  how  have  you  the  face 
to  say  so?  did  you  not-  give  her  a  letter  of  recommendation 
to  me,  pledging  yourself  for  her  moral  character  and  fidel- 
ity ?  " 

"  I  grant  it,  but  still  I  pledge  you  my  honor  that  I  looked 
upon  her  as  an  extremely  proper  person  to  be  about  your 
daughter  ;  you  know,  sir,  that  you  as  well  as  I  have  had — 
and  have  still — apprehensions  as  to  Reilly's  conduct  and  in- 


WILL  V  REfL L  Y.  243 

fluencc  over  her  ;  and  I  did  fear,  and  so  did  you,  that  the 
maid  who  then  attended  her,  and  to  whom  I  was  told  she 
was  attached  with  such  unusual  affection,  might  have  availed 
herself  of  her  position,  and  either  attempted  to  seduce  her 
from  her  faith,  or  connive  at  private  meetings  with  Reilly." 

"  Sir  Robert,  I  know  your  plausibility — and,  upon  my  soul, 
I  pay  it  a  high  compliment  when  I  say  it  is  equal  to  your 
cowardice." 

"  Mr.  Folliard,  I  can  bear  all  this  with  patience,  especially 
from  you — What's  this  ?  "  he  exclaimed,  addressing  the  foot- 
man, who  rushed  into  the  room  in  a  state  of  considerable  ex- 
citement. 

"  Why,  Sir  Robert,  there  is  a  young  woman  below,  who 
is  crying  and  lamenting,  and  saying  she  must  see  Mr.  Fol- 
liard." 

"Damnation,  sir,"  exclaimed  "Sir  Robert,  "what  is  this? 
why  am  I  interrupted  in  such  a  manner  ?  I  cannot  have  a 
gentleman  ten  minutes  in  my  study,  engaged  upon  private 
and  important  business,  but  in  bolts  some  of  you,  to  inter- 
rupt and  disturb  us.     What  does  the  girl  want  with  me  /  " 

"  It  is  not  you  she  wants,  sir,"  replied  the  footman,  "  but 
his  honor,  Mr.  Folliard." 

"  Well,  tell  her  to  wait  until  he  is  disengaged.** 

"No,"  replied  Mr.  Folliard,  "send  her  up  at  once;  what 
the  devil  can  this  be .'  but  you  shall  witness  it." 

The  baronet  smiled  knowingly.  "  Well,"  said  he,  "  Mr. 
Folliard,  upon  my  honor,  I  thought  you  had  sown  your  wild 
oats  many  a  year  ago  ;  and,  by  the  way,  according  to  all  ac- 
counts— hem — but  no  matter;  this  to  be  sure  will  be  rathei 
a  late  crop." 

"  No,  sir,  I  sowed  my  wild  oats  in  the  right  season,  when 
I  was  hot,  young,  and  impetuous  ;  but  long  before  your  age, 
sir,  that  field  was  allowed  to  lie  barren." 

He  had  scarcely  concluded  when  Miss  Herbert,  acting 
upon  a  plan  of  her  own,  which,  were  not  the  baronet  a  man 
of  the  most  imperturbable  coolness,  might  have  staggered,  if 
not  altogether  confounded  him,  entered  the  room. 

"  Oh,  sir  !  "  she  exclaimed,  with  a  flood  of  tears,  kneeling 
before  Mr.  Folliard,  "  can  you  forgive  and  pardon  me  ?  " 

"  It  is  not  against  you  foolish  girl,  that  my  resentment  is 
or  shall  be  directed,  butnsrainst  the  man  who  employed  you — 
and  there  he  sits." 

"  Oh,  sir  !  "  she  exclaimed,  again  turning  to  that  worthy 
gentleman,  who  seemed  filled  with  astonishment. 


,^  WILL  V  REILL  V. 

"  In  God's  name  !  "  said  he,  interrupted  his  accomplice, 
"  what  can  this  mean  ?     Who  are  you,  my  good  girl  ?  " 

"  My  name's  Catharine  Wilson,  sir." 

"  Catherine  Wilson  ! "'  exclaimed  the  squire — "  why,  con- 
found your  brazen  face,  are  you  not  the  person  who  styled 
yourself  Miss  Herbert,  and  who  lived,  thank  God,  but  for  a 
short  time  only,  in  my  family  ?  " 

"  I  lived  in  your  family,  sir,  but  I  am  not  the  Miss  Her- 
bert that  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  recommended  to  you." 

"  I  certainly  know  nothing  about  you,  my  good  girl,"  re- 
plied Sir  Robert,  "  nor  do  I  recollect  having  ever  seen  you 
before  ;  but  proceed  with  what  you  have  to  say,  and  let  us 
hear  it  at  once." 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  but  perhaps  you  are  not  the  gentleman  as  is 
known  to  be  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft — him  as  hunts  the  priests; 
Oh,  la,  I'll  surely  be  sent  to' jail.  Gentlemen,  if  you  promise 
not  to  send  me  to  jail,  I'll  tell  you  everything." 

"  Well,  then,  proceed,"  said  the  squire  ;  "  I  will  not  send 
you  to  jail  provided  you  tell  the  truth." 

"Nor  I,  my  good  girl,"  added  Sir  Robert,  "but  upon  the 
same  conditions." 

"  Well,  then,  gentlemen,  I  was  acquainted  with  Miss 
Herbert — she  is  Hirish,  but  I'm  English.  This  gentleman 
gave  her  a  letter  to  you,  Mr.  Folliard,  to  get  her  as  maid  for 
Miss  Helen — she  told  me — oh,  my  goodness,  I  shall  surely 
be  sent  to  jail." 

"  Go  on,  girl,"  said  the  baronet  somewhat  sternly,  by 
which  tone  of  voice  he  intimated  to  her  that  she  was  pursuing 
the  right  course,  and  she  was  quick  enough  to  understand  as 
much. 

"  Well,"  she  proceeded,  "  after  Miss  Herbert  had  got  the 
letter,  she  told  her  sweetheart,  who  wouldn't  by  no  means 
allow  her  to  take  service,  because  as  why,  he  wanted  to 
marry  her  ;  well,  she  consented,  and  they  did  get  married, 
and  both  of  them  left  the  country  because  her  father  wasn't 
consenting.  As  the  letter  was  of  no  use  to  her  then,  I  asked 
her  for  it,  and  offered  myself  in  her  name  to  you,  sir,  and 
that  was  the  way  I  came  into  your  family  for  a  short  time." 

The  baronet  rose  up,  in  well-feigned  agitation,  and  ex- 
claimed, "  Unfortunate  girl  !  whoever  you  may  be,  you  know 
not  the  serious  mischief  and  unhappiness  that  your  imposture 
was  nearly  entailing  upon  me." 

But  did  you  not  say  that  you  bore  an  illegitimate  child  to 
this  gentleman  ?  "  asked  the  squire. 


WILL  Y  REIL  LY.  245 

"  Oh,  la!  no,  sir  ;  you  know  I  denied  that ;  I  never  bore  an 
illegitimate  child  ;  I  bore  a  love-child,  but  not  to  him  ;  and 
there  is  no  harm  in  that,  sure." 

"  Well,  she  certainly  has  exculpated  you,  Sir  Robert." 
"  Gentlemen,  will  you  excuse  and  pardon  me  ?  and  will 
yo-;  premise  not  to  send  me  to  jail?  " 

■  Go  about  your  business,"  said  Sir  Robert,  "you  unfor- 
tunate girl,  and  be  guilty  of  no  such  impostures  in  future. 
Your  conduct  has  nearly  been  the  means  of  putting  enmity 
between  two  families  of  rank  ;  or  rather  of  alienating  one  of 
them  from  the  confidence  and  good  will  of  the  other.     Go." 

She  then  courtesied  to  each,  shedding,  at  the  same  time, 
what  seemed  to  be  bitter  tears  of  remorse — and  took  her  de- 
parture, each  of  them  looking  after  her,  and  then  at  the  other, 
with  surprise  and  wonder. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Folliard,"  said  Str  Robert  solemnly,  "I  have 
one  question  to  ask  you,  and  it  is  this  :  could  I  possibly,  or 
by  any  earthly  natural  means,  have  been  apprised  of  the 
honor'^of  your  visit  to  me  this  day  ?  I  ask  you  in  a  serious — 
yes,  and  in  a  solemn  spirit  ;  because  the  happiness  of  my  fu- 
ture life  depends  on  your  reply." 

"  Why,  no,"  replied  the  credulous  squire,  "  hang  it,  no, 
man — no,  Sir  Robert ;  I'll  do  you  that  justice  ;  I  never  men- 
tioned my  intention  of  coming  to  call  you  out,  to  any  indi- 
vidual but  one,  and  that  on  my  way  hither  ;  he  was  unwell, 
too,  after  a  hard  night's  drinking;  but  he  said  he  would  shake 
himself  up,  and  be  ready  to  attend  mc  as  soon  as  the  place  of 
meeting  should  be  settled  on.  In  point  of  fact,  I  did  not  in- 
tend to  see  you  to  day,  but  to  send  him  with  the  message  ; 
but,  as  I  said,  he  was  knocked  up  for  a  time,  and  you  know 
my  natural  impatience.  No,  certainly  not,  it  was  in  every 
sense  impossible  that  you  could  have  expected  me  :  yes,  if  the 
devil  was  in  it,  I  will  do  you  that  justice." 

"  Well,  I  have  another  question  to  ask,  my  dear  friend, 
equally  important  with,  if  not  more  so  than,  the  other.  Do 
you  hold  me  free  from  all  blame  in  what  has  happened  through 
the  imposture  of  that  wretched  girl  ?  " 

"  Why,  after  what  has  occurred  just  now,  I  certainly  must, 
Sir  Robert.  As  you  had  no  anticipation  of  my  visit,  you 
certainly  could  not,  nor  had  you  time  to  get  up  a  scene." 

"Well,  now,  Mr.  Folliard,  you  have  taken  a  load  off  my 
heart ;  and  1  will  candidly  confess  to  you  that  I  have  had 
my  frailties  like  other  men,  sown  my  wild  oats  like  other 
men  ;  but,  unlike  those  who  are  not  ashamed  to  boast  of  such 


246  WILL  Y  REILL  Y. 

exploits,  I  did  not  think  it  necessary  to  trumpet  my  own  feel- 
ings. I  do  not  say,  my  dear  friend,  that  I  have  always  been 
a  saint." 

"  Why,  now,  that's  manly  and  candid.  Sir  Robert,  and  I 
like  you  the  better  for  it.  Yes,  I  do  exonerate  you  from 
blame  in  this.  There  certainly  was  sincerity  in  that  wench's 
tears,  and  be  hanged  to  her  \  for,  as  you  properly  said,  she 
was  devilish  near  putting  between  our  families,  and  knocking 
up  our  intimacy.  It  is  a  delightful  thing  to  think  that  I  shall 
be  able  to  disabuse  poor  Helen's  mind  upon  the  subject  ;  for, 
I  give  you  my  honor,  it  caused  her  the  greatest  distress,  and 
excited  her  mind  to  a  high  pitch  of  indignation  against  you  ; 
but  I  shall  set  all  to  rights." 

"  And  now  that  the  matter  is  settled,  Mr.  Folliard,  we 
must  have  lunch.  I  will  give  you  a  glass  of  Burgundy,  which, 
I  am  sure,  you  will  like." 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  replied  the  placable  and  hearty  old 
squire  ;  "  after  the  agitation  of  the  day  a  good  glass  of  Bur- 
gundy will  serve  me  certainly." 

Lunch  was  accordingly  ordered,  and  the  squire,  after 
taking  half  a  dozen  bumpers  of  excellent  wine,  got  into  fine 
spirits,  shook  hands  as  cordially  as  ever  with  the  baronet, 
and  drove  home  completely  relieved  from  the  suspicions  which 
he  had  entertained. 

The  squire,  on  his  return  home,  immediately  called  for 
his  daughter,  but  for  some  time  to  no  purpose.  The  old  man 
began  to  get  alarmed,  and  had  not  only  Helen's  room 
searched,  but  every  room  in  the  house.  At  length  a  servant 
informed  him  that  she  was  tending  and  arranging  the  green- 
house flowers  in  the  garden. 

"Oh,  ay!  "  said  he,  after  he  had  dismissed  the  servants. 
"  Thank  God — thank  God  !  I  will  go  out  to  the  dear  girl  ; 
for  she  is  a  dear  girl,  and  it  is  a  sin  to  suspect  her.  I  wish 
to  heaven  that  that  scoundrel  Reilly  would  turn  Protestant, 
and  he  should  have  her  with  all  the  veins  of  my  heart.  Upon 
my  soul,  putting  religion  out  of  the  question,  one  would  think 
that,  in  other  respects,  they  were  made  for  each  other.  But 
it's  all  this  cursed  pride  of  his  that  prevents  him  ;  as  if  it 
signified  what  any  person's  religion  is,  provided  he's  an  honest 
man,  and  a  loyal  subject." 

He  thus  proceeded  with  his  soliloquy  until  he  reached  the 
garden,  where  he  found  Reilly  and  her  arranging  the  plants 
and  flowers  in  a  suburb  green-house. 

"  Well,  Helen,  my  love,  how  is  the  green-house  doing  ? 
Eh  1  why,  what  is  this**  " 


WILL  Y  REILL  V.  2 47 

At  this  exclamation  the  lovers  started,  but  the  old  fellow 
was  admiring  the  improvement,  which  even  he  couldn't  but 
notice. 

"  Why,  what  is  this  ?  "  he  proceeded  ;  by  the  light  of  day, 
Helen,  you  have  made  this  a  little  paradise  of  flowers." 

"  It  was  not  I,  papa,"  she  replied  ;  "  all  that  I  have  been 
able  to  contribute  to  the  order  and  beauty  of  the  place  has 
been  very  slight  indeed.  It  is  all  the  result  of  this  poor  man's 
taste  and  skill.     He's  an  admirable  botanist." 

"  By  the  great  Boyne,  my  girl,  I  think  he  could  lick  Mal- 
colmson  himself,  as  a  botanist." 

"  Shir,"  observed  Reilly,  "  the  young  lady  is  underwaluin' 
herself  ;  sure,  miss,  it  was  yourself  directed  me  what  to  do,  and 
how  to  do  it." 

"  Look  at  that  old  chap,  Helen,"  said  her  father,  who  felt 
in  great  good  humor ;  first,  because  he  found  that  Helen  was 
safe  ;  and  again,  because  Sir  Robert,  as  the  unsuspecting  old 
man  thought,  had  cleared  up  the  circumstances  of  Miss  Her- 
bert's imposture  ;  "  I  say,  Helen,  look  at  that  old  chap  :  isn't 
he  a  nice  bit  of  goods  to  run  away  with  a  pretty  girl  1  and 
what  a  beautiful  taste  she  must  have  had  to  go  with  him  ! 
Upon  my  soul,  it  beats-  cockfighting — confound  me,  but  it 
does." 

Helen's  face  became  crimson  as  he  spoke  ;  and  yet,  such 
was  the  ludicrous  appearance  which  Reilly  made,  when  put 
in  connection  with  the  false  scent  on  which  her  father  was 
proceeding  at  such  a  rate,  and  the  act  of  gallantry  imputed 
to  him,  that  a  strong  feeling  of  humor  overcame  her,  and 
she  burst  into  a  loud  ringing  laugh,  which  she  could  not, 
for  some  time,  restrain  ;  in  this  she  was  heartily  joined 
by  her  father,  who  laughed  till  the  tears  came  down  his 
cheeks. 

"  And  yet,  Helen — ha — ha — ha,  he's  a  stalwart  old  rogue 
still,  and  must  have  been  a  devil  of  a  tyke  when  he  was 
young." 

After  another  fit  of  laughter  from  both  father  and  daugh- 
ter, the  squire  said  : 

"  Now,  Helen,  my  love,  go  in.  I  have  good  news  for  you, 
which  I  will  acquaint  you  with  by  and  by." 

When  she  left  the  garden,  her  father  addressed  Reilly  as 
follows  : 

"  Now,  my  good  fellow,  will  you  tell  me  how  you  came  to 
know  about  Miss  Herbert  having  been  seduced  by  Sir  Robert 
Whitecraft  ? " 


248  J^^LL  Y  REILL  Y. 

"  Fwhy,  shir,  from  common  report,  shir." 

"Is  that  all?  But  don't  you  think,"  he  replied,  " that 
common  report  is  a  common  liar,  as  it  mostly  has  been,  and 
is,  in  this  case.  That's  all  I  have  to  say  upon  the  subject.  I 
have  traced  the  affair,  and  find  it  to  be  a  falsehood  from  be- 
ginning to  ending.  I  have.  And  now,  go  on  as  you're  doing, 
and  I  will  make  Malcomson  raise  your  wages." 

"  Thank  you,  shir,"  and  he  touched  his  nondescript  with 
an  air  of  great  thankfulness  and  humility. 

"  Helen,  my  darling,"  said  her  father,  on  entering  her  own 
sitting-room,  "  I  said  I  had  good  news  for  you." 

Helen  looked  at  him  with  a  doubtful  face,  and  simply  said, 
'*  I  hope  it  is  good,  papa." 

"  Why,  my  child,  I  won't  enter  into  particulars  ;  it  is 
enough  to  say  that  I  discovered  from  an  accidental  meeting 
with  that  wretched  girl  we  had  here  that  she  was  not  Miss 
Herbert,  as  she  called  herself,  at  all,  but  another,  named 
Catherine  Wilson,  who,  having  got  from  Herbert  the  letter  of 
recommendation  which  I  read  to  you,  had  the  effrontery  to 
pass  herself  for  her  ;  but  the  other  report  was  false.  The 
girl  Wilson,  apprehensive  that  either  I  or  Sir  Robert  might 
send  her  to  jail,  having  seen  my  carriage  stop  at  Sir  Robert's 
house,  came,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  to  beg  that  if  we  would 
not  punish  her  she  would  tell  us  the  truth,  and  she  did  so." 

Helen  mused  for  some  time,  and  seemed  to  decide  in- 
stantly upon  the  course  of  action  she  should  pursue,  or, 
rather,  the  course  which  she  had  previously  proposed  to  her- 
self. She  saw  clearly,  and  had  long  known,  that  in  the  tac- 
tics and  stratagems  of  life  her  blunt  but  honest  father  was  no 
match  at  all  for  the  deep  hypocrisy  and  deceitful  plausibility 
of  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft.  The  consequence  was,  that  she 
allowed  her  father  to  take  his  own  way,  without  either  remon- 
strance or  contradiction.  She  knew  very  well  that  on  this 
occasion,  as  on  every  other  where  their  wits  and  wishes  came 
in  opposition.  Sir  Robert  was  always  able  to  out-general  and 
overreach  him  ;  she  therefore  resolved  to  agitate  herself  as 
little  as  possible,  and  to  allow  matters  to  flow  on  tranquilly, 
until  the  crisis — the  moment  for  action  came. 

"  Papa,"  she  replied,  "  this  intelligence  must  make  your 
mind  very  easy ;  I  hope,  however,  you  will  restore  poor  faith- 
ful Connor  to  me.  I  never  had  such  an  affectionate  ^nd  kind 
creature  ;  and,  besides,  not  one  of  them  could  dress  me  with 
such  skill  and  taste  as  she  could.  Will  you  allow  na*  *o  hav^ 
her  back,  sir?" 


WILLY  REILLY. 


249 


*  I  will,  Helen ;  but  take  care  she  doesn't  make  a  Papist 
of  you." 

"  Indeed,  papa,  that  is  a  strange  whim  ;  why,  the  poor 
girl  never  opened  her  lips  to  me  on  the  subject  of  religion 
during  her  life  ;  nor,  if  I  saw  that  she  attempted  it,  would  I 
permit  her.  I  am  no  theologian,  papa,  and  detest  polemics, 
because  I  have  always  heard  that  those  who  are  most  addicted 
to  polemical  controversy  have  least  religion." 

"Well,  my  love,  you  shall  have  back  poor  Connor  ;  and 
now^  I  must  go  and  look  over  some  papers  in  my  study. 
Good-by,  my  love  ;  and  observe,  Helen,  don't  stay  out  too 
late  in  the  garden,  lest  the  chill  of  the  air  might  injure  your 
health." 

"  But  you  know  /never  do,  and  never  did,  papa." 

"  Well,  good-by  again,  my  love." 

He  then  left  her,  and  withdrew  to  his  study  to  sign  some 
papers,  and  transact  some  business,  which  he  had  allowed  to 
run  into  arrear.  When  he  had  been  there  better  than  an 
hour,  he  rang  the  bell,  and  desired  that  Malcomoon,  the 
gardener,  should  be  sent  to  him,  and  that  self-sufficient  and 
pedantic  person  made  his  appearance  accordingly. 

"  Well,  Malcomson,"  said  he,  "  how  do  you  like  the 
bearded  fellow  in  the  garden  ?  " 

"Ou,  your  honor,  weel  eneugh  ;  he  does  ken  something  o' 
the  sceence  o'  buttany,  an'  'am  thinkin'  he  must  hae  been  a 
gude  spell  in  Scotland,  for  I  canna  guess  whare  else  he  could 
hae  become  acquent  wi'  it." 

"  I  see,  Malcomson,  you'll  still  persist  in  your  confounded 
pedantry  about  your  science.  Now,  what  the  devil  has  sci- 
ence to  do  with  botany  or  gardening  .''  " 

"Weel,  your  honor,  it  wadna  just  become  me  to  dispute 
wi'  ye  upon  that  or  any  ither  subjeck  ;  but  for  a'  that,  it 
required  profoond  sceence,  and  vera  extensive  learnin'  to 
classify  an'  arrange  a'  tlie  plants  o'  the  yearth,  an'  to  gie  them 
names,  by  whilk  they  can  be  known  throughout  a'  the  nations 
o'  the  warld." 

"  Well,  well — 1  suppose  I  must  let  you  have  your  way." 

"Why,  your  honor,"  replied  Malcomson,  "'am  sure  it 
mair  becomes  me  to  let  you  hae  yours  ;  but  regarding  this 
ould  carl,  I  winna  say  but  he  has  been  weel  indoctrinated  in 
the  sceence." 

"  Ahem  !  well,  well,  go  on." 

"  An'  it's  no  easy  to  guess  whare  he  could  hae  gotten  it. 
Indeed,  'am  of  opinion  that  he's  no  without  a  hantle  o'  book 


2SO 


WILLY  REILLY. 


lair  ;  for,  to  do  him  justice,  de'il  a  question  I  spier  at  him, 
anent  the  learned  names  o'  the  rare  plants,  that  he  hasna  at 
his  finger  ends,  and  gies  to  me  off  hand.  Naebody  but  a 
man  that  has  gotten  book  lair  could  do  yon." 

"  Book  lair,  what  is  that  ?  " 

"Ou,  just  a  correck  knowledge  o'  the  learned  names  of 
the  plants,  I  dinna  say,  and  I  winna  say,  but  he's  a  velli- 
able  assistant  to  me,  an'  I  shouldna  wish  to  pairt  wi'  him.  If 
he'd  only  shave  off  yon  beard,  an'  let  himsel'  be  decently 
happed  in  good  claiths,  why  he  might  pass  in  ony  gentleman's 
gerden  for  a  skeelful  buttanist." 

"  Is  he  as  good  a  kitchen  gardener  as  he  is  in  the  green- 
house, and  among  the  flowers  ?  " 

"  Weel,  your  honor,  guid  troth,  'am  sairly  puzzled  there  ; 
hoot,  no,  sir  ;  de'il  a  thing  almost  he  kens  about  the  kitchen 
gerden — a'  his  strength  lies  among  the  flowers  and  in  the 
green-house." 

"  Well,  well,  that's  where  we  principally  want  him.  I  sent 
for  you,  Malcomson,  to  desire  you'd  raise  his  wages — tlie 
laborer  is  worthy  of  his  hire  ;  and  a  good  laborer  of  good 
hire.     Let  him  have  four  shillings  a  week  additional. 

"  Troth,  your  honor,  'am  no  sayin'  but  he  weel  deserves 
it;  but,  Lord  baud  a  care  o'  us,  he's  a  queer  one,  yon." 

"  Why,  what  do  you  mean?  " 

"  Why,  de'il  heat  he  seems  to  care  about  siller  any  mair 
than  if  it  was  sklate  stains.  On  Saturday  last,  when  he  was 
paid  his  weekly  wages  by  the  steward,  he  met  a  puir  sickly- 
lookin'  auld  wife,  wi'  a  string  o'  sickly-looking  weans  at  the 
body's  heels;  she  didna  ask  him  for  charity,  for,  in  troth,  he 
appeared,  binna  it  wearna  for  the  weans,  as  great  an  objeck 
as  hersel' ;  noo,  what  wad  yer  honor  think  .''  he  gaes  ower  and 
gies  till  her  a  hale  crov.n  o'  siller  out  o'  his  ain  wages.  Was 
ever  onything  heard  like  yon." 

"Well,  but  I  know  the  cause  of  it,  Malcomson.  He's 
under  a  penance,  and  can  neither  shave  nor  change  his  dress 
till  his  silly  penance  is  out ;  and  I  suppose  it  was  to  wash  off 
a  part  of  it  that  he  gave  this  foolish  charity  to  the  poor  woman 
and  her  children.  Come,  although  I  condemn  the  folly  of  it, 
I  don't  like  him  the  worse  for  it." 

"  Hout  awa',  your  honor,  what  is  it  but  rank  Papistry,  and 
a  dependence  upon  filthy  works.  The  doited  auld  carl,  to 
throw  aff  his  siller  that  gate  ;  but  th?ft's  Papistry  a'  ower — 
substituting  works  for  grace  and  faith — a'  Papistry,  a'  Papis- 
try 1  Well,  your  honor,  I  sal  be  conform  to  your  wishes — it's 
my  duty,  that." 


tkJLLY  REILLY.  %^\ 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

AWFUL  CONDUCT  OF  SQUIRE  FOLLIARD — FERGUS  REILLY  BEGINS 
TO  CONTRAVENE  THE  RED  RAPPAREE. 

After  Malcomson  quitted  him,  the  squire,  with  his 
golden-headed  cane,  went  to  saunter  about  through  his 
beautiful  grounds  and  his  noble  demesne,  proud,  certainly,  of 
his  property,  nor  insensible  to  the  beautiful  scenery  which  it 
presented  from  so  many  points  of  observation.  He  had  not 
been  long  here  when  a  poor-looking  peasant,  dressed  in 
shabby  frieze,  approached  him  at  as  fast  a  pace  as  he  could 
accomplish  ;  and  the  squire,  after  looking  at  him,  exclaimed, 
in  an  angry  tone  > 

"Well,  you  rascal,  what  the  devil  brings  you  here  ?" 

The  man  stood  for  a  little,  and  seemed  so  much  exhausted 
and  out  of  breath  that  he  could  not  speak. 

"  I  say,  you  unfortunate  old  vagrant,"  repeated  the  squire, 
"  what  brought  you  here  ?  " 

"  It  is  a  case  of  either  life  or  death,  sir,"  replied  the  poor 
peasant. 

*'  Why,"  said  the  squire,  "  what  did  you  commit  "i  Or,  per- 
haps, you  broke  prison,  and  are  flying  from  the  officers  of 
justice  ;  eh  !  is  that  it  ?  And  you  come  to  ask  a  magistrate 
to  protect  you  !  " 

"  I  am,  flying  from  the  agents  of  persecution,  sir,  and 
know  not  where  to  hide  my  head  in  order  to  avoid  them." 

The  hard-pressed  but  amiable  priest — for  such  he  was — 
adopted  this  language  of  truth,  because  he  knew  the  squire's 
character,  and  felt  that  it  would  serve  him  more  effectually 
than  if  he  had  attempted  to  conceal  his  profession.  "  I  am 
a  Catholic  priest,  sir,  and  felt  from  bitter  experience  that  this 
disguise  was  necessary  to  the  preservation  of  my  life.  I 
throw  myself  upon  your  honor  and  generosity,  for  although 
hasty,  sir,  you  are  reported  to  have  a  good  and  kind  heart." 

"  You  are  disposed  to  place  confidence  in  me,  then  } " 

"  I  am,  sir ;  my  being  before  you  now,  and  putting  myself 
in  your  power,  is  a  proof  of  i'." 

"  Who  are  pursuing  you  ?      Sir  Robert  Whitecraft — eh  ?  " 

"  No,  sir.  Captain  Smelipriest  and  /lis  gang-" 

"  Ah,  out  of  the  frying  pan  into  the  tire ;  although  1  don't 


252 


WILLY  REILLY. 


know  that,  either.  They  say  Smellpriest  can  do  a  generous 
thing  sometimes — but  the  other,  when  priest-hunting,  never. 
What's  your  name  ?  " 

"  I'll  tell  you  without  hesitation,  sir — Maguire  ;  I'm  of 
the  Maguires  of  Fermanagh," 

■•  Ah  !  ay  !  why,  then,  you  have  good  blood  in  your  veins. 
But  what  offence  were  you  guilty  of  that  you — but  I  need  not 
ask  ;  it  is  enough,  in  the  present  state  of  the  laws,  that  you 
are  a  Catholic  priest.  In  the  mean  time,  are  you  aware  that 
I  myself  transported  a  Catholic  priest,  and  that  he  would 
have  swung  only  for  my  daughter,  who  went  to  the  viceroy, 
and,  with  much  difficulty,  got  his  sentence  commuted  to  trans- 
portation for  life  ;  I  myself  had  already  tried  it,  and  failed  ; 
but  she  succeeded,  God  bless  her  !  " 

"  Yes.  God  bless  her  !  "  replied  the  priest,  "  she  succeeded, 
and  her  fame  has  gone  far  and  near,  in  consequence  ;  yes, 
may  God  of  his  mercy  bless  and  guard  her  from  all  evil  !  " 
and  as  the  poor  hunted  priest  spoke,  the  tears  came  to  his 
eyes.  This  symptom  of  respect  and  affection,  prompted  by 
the  generous  and  heroic  conduct  of  the  far-famed  Cooken 
Bawn,  touched  her  father,  and  saved  the  priest. 

"  Well,'"  said  he,  after  musing  for  a  while,  "  so  you  say 
Smell jjriest  is  after  you  .-" '' 

"  He  is,  sir ;  they  saw  me  at  a  distance,  across  the  coun' 
try,  scrambling  over  the  park  wall,  and  indeed  I  was  near 
falling  into  their  hands  by  the  difficulty  I  had  in  getting 
over  it." 

"  Well,  come,"  replied  the  squire,  "  since  you  have  had 
the  courage  to  place  confidence  in  me,  I  won't  abuse  it ;  come 
along,  I  will  both  conceal  and  protect  you.  I  presume  there 
is  little  time  to  be  lost,  for  those  priesthounds  will  be  apt  to 
ride  round  to  the  entrance  gate,  which  I  will  desire  the  porter 
to  close  and  lock,  and  then  leave  the  lodge." 

On  their  way  home  he  did  so,  and  ordered  the  porter  up 
to  the  house.  The  magnificent  avenue  was  a  serpentine  one, 
and  our  friends  had  barely  time  to  get  out  of  sight  of  the 
lodge,  by  a  turn  in  it,  when  they  heard  the  voices  of  the  pur- 
suers, hallooing  for  the  porter,  and  thundering  at  the  gate. 

"  Ay,  thunder  away,  only  don't  injure  my  gate,  Smellpriest, 
or  I'll  make  you  replace  it  ;  bawl  yourselves  hoarse — you  are 
on  the  wrong  side  for  once  !  " 

When  they  were  approaching  the  hall  door,  which  gener- 
ally lay  open — 

**  Confound  me,"  said  the  squire,  "  if  I  know  what  to  do 


WILL  V  RETLL  V. 


253 


with  you  ;  I  trust  in  God  I  won't  get  into  odium  hy  this.  At 
all  events,  let  us  stea'  up  stairs  as  quietly  as  we  can,  and,  if 
possible,  without  any  unc  seeing  us." 

To  the  necessity  of  this  the  priest  assented,  and  they  had 
reached  the  first  landing  of  the  staircase  when  out  popped 
right  in  their  teeth  two  housemaids  each  with  brush  in  hand. 
Now  it  instantly  occurred  to  the  squire  that  in  this  unlucky 
crisis  bribery  was  the  safest  course.  He  accordingly  ad- 
dressed them  : 

"  Come  here,  you  jades,  don't  say  a  word  about  this  man's 
presence  here — don't  breathe  it ;  here's  five  shillings  apiece 
for  you,  and  let  one  of  you  go  and  bring  me  up,  secretly,  the 
key  of  the  green  room  in  the  garret ;  it  has  not  been  opened 
for  some  time.  Be  quick  now  ;  or  stay,  desire  Lanigan  to 
fetch  it,  and  refreshment  also  ;  there's  cold  venison  and  roast 
beef,  and  a  bottle  of  wine  ;  tell  Lanigan  I'm  going  to  lunch, 
and  to  lay  the  table  in  my  study.  Lanigan  can  be  depended 
on,"  he  added,  after  the  chambermaid  had  gone,  "  for  when  I 
concealed  another  priest  here  once,  he  was  entrusted  with  the 
secret,  and  was  faithful." 

Now  it  so  happened  that  one  of  those  maids,  who  was  a 
very  bitter  Protestant,  at  once  recognized  Father  Maguire, 
notwithstanding  his  disguise.  She  had  been  a  servant  for 
four  or  five  years  in  the  house  of  a  wealthy  farmer  who  lived 
adjoining  him,  and  with  whom  he  had  been  in  the  habit  of 
frequently  dining  when  no  danger  was  to  be  apprehended 
from  the  operation  of  the  laws.  Indeed,  she  and  Malcomson, 
the  gardener,  were  the  only  two  individuals  in  the  squire's 
establishment  who  were  not  Catholics.  Malcomson  was  a 
manoeuvrer,  and,  as  is  pretty  usual  with  individuals  of  his 
class  and  country,  he  looked  upon  "  Papistry"  as  an  abomi- 
nation that  ought  to  be  removed  from  the  land.  Still  he  was 
cautious  and  shrewd,  and  seldom  or  never  permitted  those 
opinions  to  interfere  with  or  obstruct  his  own  interests.  Be 
this  as  it  may,  the  secret  was  not  long  kept.  Esther  Wilson 
impeached  her  master's  loyalty,  and  she  herself  was  indig- 
nantly assailed  for  her  treachery  by  Molly  Finigan,  who  hoped 
in  her  soul  that  her  master  and  young  mistress  would  both 
die  in  the  true  Church  yet. 

The  whole  kitchen  was  in  a  buzz  ;  in  fact  a  regular  scene 
ensued.  Every  one  spoke,  except  Lanigan,  who,  from  former 
experience  understood  the  case  perfectly  ;  but,  as  for  Mal- 
comson, whose  zeal  on  this  occasion  certainly  got  the  better 
of  his  discretion,  he  seemed  thunderstruck. 


354 


WILLY  RETLLY. 


"  Eh,  sirs  !  did  ony  one  ever  hear  the  like  o'  this  ? — to  hide 
a  rebel  priest  frae  the  offended  laws  !  But  it  canna  be  that 
this  puir  man  is  athegether  right  in  his  head.  Lord  ha'e  a 
care  o'  us  !  the  man  surely  must  be  demented,  or  he  wouldna 
venture  to  bring  such  a  person  into  his  ain  house — into  the 
vara  house.  I  think,  Maisther  Lanigan,  it  wad  be  just  a  pre- 
cious bit  o'  service  to  religion  and  our  laws  to  gang  and  tell 
the  next  magistrate,  Gude  guide  us  !  what  an  example  he  is 
settin'  to  his  loyal  neighbors,  and  his  hail  connections  !  That 
ever  we  shud  see  the  like  o'  this  waefu'  backsliding  at  his 
years  !     Lord  ha'e  a  care  o'  us,  I  say  aince  main" 

"  Oh,  but  there's  more  to  come,'  said  one  of  them,  for,  in 
the  turmoil  produced  by  this  shocking  intelligence,  they  had 
forgotten  to  deliver  the  message  to  Lanigan. 

"  Mr.  Lanigan,"  said  Esther,  and  her  breath  was  checked 
by  a  hysteric  hiccough,  "Mr.  Lanigan,  you  are  to  bring  up  the 
key  of  the  green-room,  and  plenty  of  venison,  roast  beef,  and 
a  bottle  of  wine  !     There  !  " 

"  Saul,  Maisther  Lanigan,  I  winna  stay  langer  under  this 
roof  ;  it's  nae  cannie  ;  I'll  e'en  gang  out,  and  ha'e  some  non- 
sense clavers  wi'  yon  queer  auld  carl  i'  the  gerden.  The 
Lord  ha'e  a  care  o'  us! — what  will  the  warld  come  to  next !  " 

He  accordingly  repaired  to  the  garden,  where  the  first 
thing  he  did  was  to  give  a  fearful  account  to  Reilly  of  their 
master's  prodigal  profligacy.  The  latter  felt  surprised,  but 
not  at  all  at  Malcomson's  narrative.  The  fact  was,  he  knew 
the  exact  circumstances  of  the  case,  because  he  knew  the 
squire's  character,  which  was  sometimes  good,  and  sometimes 
the  reverse — just  according  to  the  humor  he  might  be  in:  and 
in  reply  observed  to  Malcomson,  that — 

"  As  his  honor  done  a  great  dale  o'  good  to  the  poor  o' 
the  counthry,  I  think  it  wouldn't  be  daicent  in  us,  Mishter 
Malcomson,  to  go  for  to  publish  this  generous  act  to  the  poor 
priesht ;  if  he  is  wrong,  let  us  lave  him  to  Gad,  shir." 

"  Ou  ay,  weel  I  dinna  but  you're  richt ;  the  mair  that  we 
won't  ha'e  to  answer  for  his  transgressions;  sae  e'en  let  every 
herring  hang  by  it's  ain  tail." 

In  the  mean  time,  Lanigan,  who  understood  the  affair  well 
enough,  addressed  the  audience  in  the  kitchen  to  the  following 
effect : 

"  Now,"  said  he,  "  what  a  devil  of  a  hubbub  you  all  make 
about  nothing  !  Pray,  young  lady,"  addressing  Esther  Wilson, 
who  alone  had  divulged  the  circumstance,  "  did  his  honor  de- 
sire you  to  keep  what  you  seen  saicret  ? " 


WILLY  REILLY. 


355 


"  He  did,  cook,  he  did,"  replied  Estlier  ;  "  and  gave  us 
money  not  to  speak  about  it,  which  is  a  proof  of  his  guilt." 

"  And  the  first  thing  you  did  was  to  blaze  it  to  the  whole 
kitchen  !  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is  now — if  he  ever  hears  that 
you  breathed  a  syllable  of  it  to  mortal  man,  you  vvon't  be  un- 
der his  roof  two  hours." 

"  Oh,  but,  surely,  cook — " 

"Oh,  but,  surely,  madam,"  replied  Lanigan,  "you  talk  of 
what  you  don't  understand  ;  his  honor  knows  very  well  what 
he's  about,  and  has  authority  for  it." 

This  sobered  her  to  some  purpose  ;  and  Lanigan  proceeded 
to  execute  his  master's  orders. 

I'  is  true  Miss  Esther  and  Malcomson  were  now  silent, 
for  iiieir  own  sakes  ;  but  it  did  not  remove  their  indignation  ; 
so  far  from  that,  Lanigan  himself  came  in  for  a  share  of  it, 
and  was  secretly  looked  upon  in  the  light  of  the  squire's  con- 
fidant in  the  transaction. 

Whilst  matters  were  in  this  position,  the  Red  Rapparee 
began  gradually  to  lose  the  confidence  of  his  unscrupulous 
employer.  He  had  promised  that  worthy  gentleman  to  be- 
tray his  former  gang,  and  deliver  them  up  to  justice,  in 
requital  for  the  protection  which  he  received  from  him. 
This  he  would  certainly  have  done,  were  it  not  for  Fergus, 
who,  happening  to  meet  one  of  them  a  day  or  two  after  the 
Rapparee  had  taken  service  with  Whitecraft  upon  the  afore- 
said condition,  informed  the  robber  of  that  fact,  and  advised 
him,  if  he  wished  to  provide  for  his  own  safety  and  that  of 
his  companions,  to  desire  them  forthwith  to  leave  the  coun- 
try, and,  if  possible,  the  kingdom.  They  accordingly  took 
the  hint ;  some  of  them  retired  to  distant  and  remote  places, 
and  others  went  beyond  seas  for  their  security.  The  prom- 
ise, therefore,  which  the  Rapparee  had  made  to  the  baronet 
as  a  proof  of  gratitude  for  his  protection,  he  now  found  him- 
self incapable  of  fulfilling,  in  consequence  of  the  dispersion 
and  disappearance  of  his  band.  When  he  stated  this  fact  to 
Sir  Robert,  he  gained  little  credit  from  him  ;  and  the  conse- 
quence was  that  his  patron  felt  disposed  to  think  that  he  was 
not  a  man  to  be  depended  on.  Still,  what  he  had  advanced 
in  his  own  defence  might  be  true ;  and  although  his  confi- 
dence in  him  was  shaken,  he  resolved  to  maintain  him  yet  in 
his  service,  and  that  for  two  reasons — one  of  which  was, 
that  by  having  him  under  his  eye,  and  within  his  grasp,  he 
could  pounce  upon  him  at  any  moment ;  the  other  was, 
that,  as  he  knew,  from  the  previous  shifts  and  necessities  of 


25d  WILLY  REILLY. 

his  own  lawless  life,  all  tliose  dens  and  recesses  and  caverns 
to  whicli  the  Catholic  priesthood,  and  a  good  number  of  the 
people,  were  obliged  to  fly  and  conceal  themselves,  he  must 
necessarily  be  a  useful  guide  to  him  as  a  priest-hunter.  It  is 
true  he  assured  him  that  he  had  procured  his  pardon  from 
gov^ernment,  principally,  he  said,  in  consequence  of  his  own 
influence,  and  because,  in  all  his  robberies,  it  had  not  been 
known  that  he  ever  took  away  human  life.  In  general,  how- 
ever, this  was  the  policy  of  the  Rapparees,  unless  when  they 
identified  themselves  with  political  contests  and  outrages,  and 
on  those  occasions  they  were  savage  and  cruel  as  fiends.  In 
simple  robbery  on  the  king's  highway,  or  in  burglaries  in 
houses,  they  seldom,  almost  never,  committed  murder,  unless 
when  resisted,  and  in  defence  of  their  lives.  On  the  con- 
trary, they  were  quite  gallant  to  females,  whom  they  treated 
with  a  kind  of  rude  courtesy,  not  unfrequently  returning  the 
lady  of  the  house  her  gold  watch — but  this  only  on  occasions 
when  they  had  secured  a  large  booty  of  plate  and  money. 
The  Threshers  of  1805-6  and  '7,  so  far  as  cruelty  goes,  were 
a  thousand  times  worse  ;  for  they  spared  neither  man  nor 
woman  in  their  famous  and  nocturnal  visits  ;  and  it  is  enough 
to  say,  besides,  that  their  cowardice  was  equal  to  their  cruelty. 
It  has  been  proved,  at  special  commissions  held  about  those 
periods,  that  four  or  five  men,  with  red  coats  on  them,  have 
made  between  two  or  three  hundred  of  the  miscreants  run  for 
their  lives,  and  they  tolerable  well  armed.  Whether  Sir 
Robert's  account  of  the  Rapparee's  pardon  was  true  or  false 
will  appear  in  due  time  ;  for  the  truth  is,  that  Whitecraft  was 
one  of  those  men  who,  in  consequence  of  his  staunch  loyalty 
and  burning  zeal  in  carrying  out  the  inhuman  measures  of  the 
then  government,  was  permitted  with  impunity  to  run  into  a 
licentiousness  of  action,  as  a  useful  public  man,  which  no 
modern  government  would,  or  dare,  permit.  At  the  period 
of  which  we  write,  there  was  no  press,  so  to  speak,  in  Ireland, 
and  consequently  no  opportunity  of  at  once  bringing  the  acts 
of  the  Irish  government,  or  of  public  men,  to  the  test  of  pub- 
lic opinion.  Such  men,  therefore,  as  Whitecraft,  looked  upon 
themselves  as  invested  with  irresponsible  power ;  and  almost 
in  every  instance  their  conduct  was  approved  of,  recognized, 
and,  in  general  rewarded  by  the  government  of  the  day.  The 
Beresford  family  enjoyed  something  like  this  unenviable  priv- 
ilege, during  the  rebellion  of  '98,  and  for  some  time  afterwards. 
We  have  alluded  to  Mrs.  Oxley.  the  sherift"s  fat  wife;  whether 
fortunately  or  unfortunately  for  the  poor  sheriff,  who  had  some 


WILLY  REILLY.  2(;7 

generous  touches  of  character  about  him,  it  so  happened  that 
at  this  period  of  our  narrative  slie  popped  off  one  day,  in  a  fit 
of  apoplexy,  and  he  found  himself  a  widower.  Now,  our  ac- 
quaintance, Fergus  Reilly,  who  was  as  deeply  disguised  as 
our  hero,  had  made  his  mind  up,  if  possible,  to  bring  the  Rap- 
paree  into  trouble.  This  man  had  led  his  patron  to  several 
places  where  it  was  likely  that  the  persecuted  priests  might 
be  found  ;  and,  for  this  reason,  Fergus  knew  that  he  was 
serious  in  his  object  to  betray  them.  This  unnatural  treach- 
ery of  the  robber  envenomed  his  heart  against  him,  and  he 
resolved  to  run  a  risk  in  watching  his  motions  He  had  no 
earthly  doubt  that  it  was  he  who  robbed  the  sheriff.  He 
knew,  from  furtive  observations,  as  well  as  from  general  re- 
port, that  a  discreditable  intimacy  existed  between  him  and 
Mary  Mahon.  This  woman's  little  house  was  very  convenient 
to  that  of  Whitecraft,  to  whom  she  was  very  useful  in  a  certain 
capacity.  She  had  now  given  up  her  trade  of  fortune-telling 
— a  trade  which,  at  that  period,  in  consequence  of  the  igno- 
rance of  the  people,  was  very  general  in  Ireland.  She  was 
now  more  beneficially  employed.  Fergus,  therefore,  confident 
in  his  disguise,  resolved  upon  a  bold  and  hazardous  stroke.  He 
began  to  apprehend  that  if  ever  Tom  Steeple,  fool  though  he 
was,  kept  too  much  about  the  haunts  and  resorts  of  the  Rap- 
paree,  that  cunning  scoundrel,  who  was  an  adept  in  all  the 
various  schemes  and  forms  of  detection,  might  take  the  alarm, 
and,  aided  probably  by  Whitecraft,  make  his  escape  out  of 
the  country.  At  best,  the  fool  could  only  assure  him  of  his 
whereabouts  ;  but  he  felt  it  necessary,  in  addition  to  this,  to 
procure,  if  the  matter  were  possible,  such  evidence  of  his  guilt 
as  might  render  his  conviction  of  the  robbery  of  the  sheriff 
complete  and  certain.  One  evening  a  wretched  looking  old 
man,  repeating  his  prayers,  with  beads  in  hand,  entered  her 
cottage,  which  consisted  of  two  rooms  and  a  kitchen  \  and 
after  having  presented  himself,  and  put  on  his  hat — for  we 
need  scarcely  say  that  no  Catholic  ever  prays  covered — he 
asked  lodging  in  Irish,  for  the  night,  and  at  this  time  it  was 
dusk, 

"  Well,  good  man,"  she  replied,  "  you  can  have  lodgings 
here  for  this  night.  God  forbid  I'd  put  a  poor  wandherer 
out,  an'  it  nearly  dark." 

Fergus  stared  at  her  as  if  he  did  not  understand  what  she 
said  ;  she,  however,  could  speak  Irish  right  well,  and  asked 
him  m  that  language  if  he  could  speak  no  English — "  Wuil 
Bearlha  agud?"  (Have  you  English  ?) 

17 


258  WILL  V  REILL  Y. 

"  Ha  neil foccal  vaun  Beariha  agum.'^  (I  haven't  one  word 
of  English.) 

"  Well,"  said  she, proceeding  with  the  following  short  con- 
versation in  Irish,  "you  can  sleep  here,  and  I  will  bring  you 
in  a  wap  o'  straw  from  the  garden,  where  I  have  it  to  feed  my 
cow,  which  his  honor  Sir  Robert  gives  me  grass  for  ;  he  would 
be  a  verv  kind  man  if  he  was  a  little  more  generous — ha  !  ha ! 
ha  !  " 

"  Ay,  but  doesn't  he  hunt  an'  hang  an'  transport  our 
priests  ? " 

"  Why,  indeed,  I  believe  he  doesn't  like  a  bone  in  a  priest's 
body ;  but  then  he's  of  a  different  religion — and  it  isn't  for 
you  or  me  to  construe  him  after  our  own  way." 

"Well,  well,"  said  Fergus,  "it  isn't  him  I'm  thinking  of; 
but  if  I  had  a  mouthful  or  two  of  something  to  ait  I'd  go  to 
sleep — for  dear  knows  I'm  tired  and  hungry." 

"  Why,  then,  of  coorse  you'll  have  something  to  ait,  poor 
man,  and  while  you're  catin'  it  I'll  fetch  in  a  good  bunch  of 
straw,  and  make  a  comfortable  shake-down  for  you." 

"  God  mark  you  to  grace,  avourneen  !  " 

She  then  furnished  him  with  plenty  of  oaten  bread  and 
mixed  milk,  and  while  he  was  helping  himself  she  brought  in 
a  large  bunch  of  straw,  which  she  shook  out  and  settled  for 
him. 

"  I  see,"  said  she,  "  that  you  have  your  own  blankets." 

"I  have,  acushla.  Cheerna,  but  this  is  darlin'  bread! 
Arra  was  this  baked  upon  a  griddle  or  against  the  muddhia 
arran  V  * 

"A  griddle  !  Whv,  then,  is  it  the  likes  o'  me  would  have 
a  griddle  ?  that  indeed  !  No  :  but,  any  how,  sure  a  griddle 
only  scalds  the  bread  ;  but  you'll  find  that  this  is  not  too  much 
done  ;  bekaise  you  know  the  ould  proverb,  'a raw  dad  makes 
a  fat  lad.' " 

"Troth,"  replied  Fergus,  "it's  good  bread,  and  fills  the 
boast  t  of  a  man's  body  ;  but  now  that  I've  made  a  good  sup- 
per I'll  throw  myself  on  the  straw,  for  I  feel  as  if  my  eyelids 
had  a  millstone  apiece  upon  them.  I  never  sthrip  at  night, 
but  just  throws  my  blanket  over  me,  an'  sleeps   like  a  top. 

*  Tlie  muddhia  arran  was  a  forked  brancli,  cut  from  a  tree,  and  shaped  exactly  like 
a  letter  A — with  a  small  stick  behind  to  support  it.  A  piece  of  hoop  iron  was  nailed  toil 
at  the  bottom  on  whicli  the  cake  rested — not  horizontally,  but  opposite  the  tire.  When 
one  side  was  done  the  other  was  turned,  and  thus  it  was  baked. 

t  Boast — a  figurative  term,  taken  from  a  braggadocio  or  boaster;  it  applies  to  any 
thing  that  is  hollow  or  deceiful  :  for  instance,  when  some  potatoes  that  grow  unusually 
large  are  cut  in  two,  an  empty  space  is  found  111  the  centre,  and  that  potato  is  termed 
boast,  or  empty. 


WTLLY  REILLY. 


*59 


Glory  be  to  God  !  Oh,  then,  there's  nothing  like  the  health 
ma'am  :  may  God  spare  it  to  us  !     Amin,  this  night !  " 

He  accordingly  threw  himself  on  the  shake-down,  and  in 
a  short  time,  as  was  evident  by  his  snoring,  fell  into  a  pro- 
found sleep. 

This  was  an  experiment,  though  a  hazardous  one,  as  we 
have  said  ;  but  so  far  it  was  successful.  In  the  course  of  half 
an  hour  the  Red  Rapparee  came  in,  dressed  in  his  uniform. 
On  looking  about  him  he  exclaimed  with  an  oath, 

''  Who  the  hell  is  here  ?  " 

"Why,"  replied  Mary  Mahon,  "a  poor  ould  man  that 
axed  for  charity  an'  lodgin'  for  the  night." 

"  And  why  did  you  give  it  to  him  ?  " 

"  Bekaise  my  charity  to  him  may  take  away  some  of  my 
sins." 

"  Some  of  your  devils  !  "  replied  the  savage,  *'  and  I  think 
you  have  enough  of  them  about  you.  Didn't  you  know  I  was 
to  come  here  to-night,  as  I  do  almost  every  night,  for  an  hour 
or  two  ?  " 

"You  was  drinkin',"  she  replied  "  and  you're  drunk." 

"  I  am  drunk,  and  I  will  be  drunk  as  gften  as  I  can.  It's 
a  good  man's  case.  Why  did  you  give  lodgin'  to  this  ould 
vagabone  ? " 

"  I  tould  you  the  raison,"  she  replied,  "  but  you  needn't 
care  about  him,  for  there's  not  a  word  of  English  in  his 
cheek." 

"  Faith,  but  he  may  have  something  in  his  purse,  for  all 
that.     Is  he  ould?" 

''  A  poor  ould  man." 

"  So  much  the  betther  ;  be  the  livin'  I'll  try  whether  he 
has  any  ould  coins  about  him.  Many  a  time — no,  I  don't  say 
many  a  time — but  twic't  I  did  it,  and  found  it  well  worth  my 
while,  too.  Some  of  these  ould  scamers  die  wid  a  purse  o' 
goolden  guineas  under  their  head,  and  won't  confess  it  till  the 
last  moment.  Who  knows  what  this  ould  lad  may  have  about 
him?  I'll  thry  anyhow,"  said  the  drunken  ruffian  ;  "it's  not 
aisy  to  give  up  an  ould  custom,  Molly — the  sheriff  my  darlin', 
for  that.  I  aised  him  of  his  fines,  and  was  near  strikin'  a 
double  blow — I  secured  his  pocket-book,  and  made  a  good 
attempt  to  hang  Willy  Reilly  for  the  robbery  into  the  bargain. 
Now,  hang  it,  Molly,  didn't  I  look  a  gentleman  in  his  clothes, 
shoes,  silver  buckles,  and  all  ;  wasn't  it  well  we  secured  them 
before  the  house  was  burned  ?  Here,"  he  added,  "  take  a 
sneeshin  of  this,"  pulling  at  the  same  time  a  pint  bottle  of 


26o  WILL  V  REILL  V. 

whiskey  out  of  his  pocket ;  "  it'll  rise  your  spirits,  an'  I'll  see 
what  cash  this  ould  codger  has  about  him  ;  an',  by  the  way, 
how  the  devil  do  we  know  that  he  doesn't  understand  every 
»word  we  say.  Suppose,  now — (hiccup) — that  he  heard  me 
say  I  robbed  the  sheriff,  wouldn't  I  be  in  a  nice  pickle?  But, 
tell  me  can  you  get  no  trace  of  Reilly  ?  " 

"  Devil  a  trace  ;  they  say  he  has  left  the  country." 

"  If  I  had  what  that  scoundrel  has  promised  me  for  findin' 
him  out  or  securin'  him — here's — here's  to  you — I  say,  if  I 
had,  you  and  I  would  " — Here  he  pointed  with  his  thumb 
over  his  shoulder,  as  much  as  to  say  they  would  try  another 
climate. 

"And  now,"  he  proceeded,  "for  a  search  on  the  shake- 
down. Who  knows  but  the  ould  fellow  has  the  yellow  boys 
(guineas)  about  him  ? " — and  he  was  proceeding  to  search 
Fergus,  when  Mary  flew  at  him  like  a  tigress. 

"Stop,  you  cowardly  robber!"  she  exclaimed;  "would 
you  bring  down  the  curse  and  the  vengeance  of  God  upon 
both  of  us?  We  have  enough  and  too  much  to  answer  for, 
let  alone  to  rob  the  ould  an'  the  poor." 

"  Be  aisy  now,''  said  he,  "I'll  make  the  search  ;  sure  I'm 
undher  the  scoundrel  Whitecraft's  protection." 

"  Yes,  you  are,  and  you're  undher  my  protection  too  ;  and 
I  tell  you,  if  you  lay  a  hand  upon  him  it'll  be  worse  for  you." 

"  What — what  do  you  mane  ?  " 

"  It's  no  matter  what  I  mane  ;  find  it  out." 

"  How  do  I  know  but  he  has  heard  us?" 

We  must  now  observe  that  Fergus's  style  of  sleeping  was 
admirably  adapted  for  his  purpose.  It  was  not  accompanied 
by  a  loud  and  unbroken  snore  ;  on  the  contrary,  after  it  had 
risen  to  the  highest  and  most  disagreeable  intonations,  it 
stopped  short,  with  a  loud  and  indescribable  backsnort  in  his 
nose,  and  then,  after  a  lull  of  some  length,  during  which  he 
groaned  and  muttered  to  himself,  he  again  resumed  his  stern- 
utations in  a  manner  so  natural  as  would  have  imposed  upon 
Satan  himself,  if  he  had  been  present,  as  there  is  little  doubt 
he  was,  though  not  exactly  visible  to  the  eyes  of  his  two 
precious  agents. 

"  Listen  to  that,"  replied  the  woman  ;  "  do  you  think,  now, 
he's  not  asleep  ?  and  even  if  he  was  sitting  at  the  fire  beside 
us,  devil  a  syllable  we  said  he  could  understand.  I  spoke  to 
him  in  English  when  he  came  in,  but  he  didn't  know  a  word 
I  said." 

"Well,  then,  let  the  ould  fellow  sleep  away:  I  won't  touch 


WILL  Y  RE  ILL  Y.  a  6 1 

"Why,  now,  that's  a  good  boy;  go  home  to  your  barracks, 
and  take  a  good  sleep  yourself." 

"Ay,  yes,  certainly;  but  have  you  Reilly's  clothes  safe — 
shoes,  silver  buckles,  and  all  ?  " 

"  Ay,  as  safe  as  the  head  on  your  shoulders ;  and,  upon 
my  soul,  a  great  dale  safer,  if  you  rob  any  more  sheriffs." 

"Where  are  they,  then?" 

"Why,  they're  in  my  flat  box,  behind  the  bed,  where  no- 
body could  see  them." 

"Very  well,  Molly,  that  will  do;  I  may  want  them  wanst 
more,"  he  replied,  pointing  again  with  his  thumb  over  his 
shoulder  towards  Whitecraft's  residence  ;  "  so  good-night ;  be 
a  good  girl,  and  take  care  of  yourself." 

"  No,"  she  replied,  "  but  do  you  be  a  good  boy,  and  take 
care  of  yourself."     And  so  they  parted  for  the  night. 

The'next  day  Fergus,  possessed  of  very  important  evidence 
against  the  Rapparee,  was  travelling  along  the  public  road, 
not  more  than  half  a  mile  from  the  residence  of  Sir  Robert 
Whitecraft,  when  whom  should  he  meet  but  the  identical 
sheriff,  on  horseback,  that  the  Rapparee  had  robbed.  He 
put  his  hand  to  his  hat,  and  asked  him  for  charity. 

"  Help  a  poor  ould  man,  for  the  love  and  honor  of  God." 

"  Why  don't  you  go  work — why  don't  you  go  work  ?  "  re- 
plied the  sheriff. 

"I  am  not  able,  sir,"  returned  Fergus;  "it  wouldn't  be 
good  for  my  health,  your  honor." 

"  Well,  pass  on,  and  don't  trouble  me ;  I  have  nothing  for 
you." 

"  Ah  !  thin,  sir,  if  you'd  give  me  a  trifle,  maybe  I'd  make 
it  worth  your  while." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ? "  asked  the  sheriff,  who  knew  that 
persons  like  him  had  opportunities  of  hearing  and  knowing 
more  about  local  circumstances,  in  consequence  of  their 
vagrant  life,  than  any  other  class  of  persons  in  society. 
"What  do  you  mean  by  what  you  have  just  said?" 

"  Aren't  you  the  sheriff,  sir,  that  was  robbed  some  time 
ago  ? " 

"  I  am." 

"Ah,  sir,  I  see  you  are  dressed  in  black;  and  I  heard  of 
the  death  of  the  misthress,  sir." 

"  Well,  but  what  has  that  to  do  with  what  you  have  just  now 
said — that  you  would  make  it  worth  my  while  if  I  gave  you 
alms  ? " 

"  I  said  so,  sir ;  and  I  can,  if  you  will  be  guided  by  me." 


362  WILL  V  REILL  Y. 

**  Speak  out ;  I  don't  understand  you." 

"  Would  you  like  to  see  the  man  that  robbed  you,  sir,  and 
would  you  know  him  if  you  did  see  him  ?  " 

"  Unquestionably  I  would  know  him.  They  say  it  was 
Reilly,  but  I  have  seen  Reilly  since ;  and  although  the  dress 
was  the  same  which  Reilly  usually  wears,  yet  the  faces  were 
different." 

"  Is  your  honor  goin'  far  ? "  asked  Fergus. 

"  No,  I  am  going  over  to  that  farm-house,  Tom  Brady's  ; 
two  or  three  of  his  family  are  ill  of  fever,  and  I  wish  to  do 
something  for  him  ;  I  am  about  to  make  him  my  land  bailiff." 

"What  stay  will  you  make  there,  your  honor.''" 

"  A  very  short  one — not  more  than  ten  or  fifteen  minutes." 

"  Would  it  be  inconvenient  for  your  honor  to  remain  there, 
or  somewhere  about  the  house,  for  an  hour,  or  may  be  a  little 
longer  1 " 

'•  For  what  purpose  ?     You  are  a  m3'sterious  old  fellow." 

"  Bekaise,  if  you'd  wish  to  see  the  man  that  robbed  you, 
I'll  undertake  to  show  him  to  you,  face  to  face,  within  that 
time.     Will  your  honor  promise  this  ?  " 

The  sheriff  paused  upon  this  proposal,  coming  as  it  did 
from  such  an  equivocal  authority.  What,  thought  he,  if  it 
should  be  a  plot  for  my  life,  in  consequence  of  the  fines  which 
I  have  been  forced  to  lew  upon  the  Catholic  priests  and 
bishops  in  my  official  capacity.  God  knows  I  feel  it  to  be  a 
painful  duty. 

"What  is  your  religion?"  he  asked,  "and  why  should  a 
gentleman  in  my  condition  of  life  place  any  confidence  upon 
the  word  of  a  common  vagrant  like  you,  who  must  necessarily 
be  imbued  with  all  the  prejudices  of  your  creed — for  I  suppose 
you  are  a  Catholic  ? " 

"  I  am,  sir ;  but,  for  all  that,  in  half  an  hour's  time  I'll  be 
a  rank  Protestant." 

The  sheriff  smiled  and  asked,  "How  the  devil's  that?" 

"  You  are  dressed  in  black,  sir,  in  murnin'  for  your  wife. 
I  have  seen  you  go  into  Tom  Brady's  to  give  the  sick  creatures 
the  rites  of  their  Church.  I  give  notice  to  Sir  Robert  White- 
craft  that  a  priest  is  there  ;  and  my  word  to  you,  he  and  his 
hounds  will  soon  be  upon  you.  The  man  that  robbed  you 
will  be  among  them — no,  but  the  foremost  of  them ;  and  if 
you  don't  know  him,  I  can't  help  it — that's  all,  your  honor." 

"  Well,"  replied  the  sheriff,  "  I  shall  give  you  nothing  now  ; 
because  I  know  not  whetiier  what  you  say  can  be  relied  upon 
|»r  not.     In  the  mean  time,  I  shall  remain  an  hour,  or  better, 


*VILCy  HEllM^.  263 

In  Brady's  house ;  and  if  your  words  are  not  made  good,  I 
shall  send  to  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  for  a  military  party  to 
escort  me  home." 

"  I  know,  your  honor,"  replied  Fergus,  "  that  Sir  Robert 
and  his  men  are  at  home  to-day;  and  if  I  don't  fulfil  my 
words,  I'll  give  your  honor  lave  to  whip  me  through  the 
county." 

"Well,"  said  the  sheriff,  "I  shall  remain  an  hour  or  so  in 
Brady's  ;  but  I  tell  you  that  if  you  are  deceiving  me  you  shall 
not  escape  me  ;  so  look  to  it,  and  think  if  what  you  propose 
to  me  is  honest  or  not — if  it  be  not,  woe  betide  you." 

Fergus  immediately  repaired  to  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  to 
whom  he  represented  himself  as  a  poor  Protestant  of  the 
name  of  Bingham,  and  informed  him  that  a  Popish  priest  was 
then  in  Tom  Brady's  house,  administering  the  rites  of  Popery 
to  those  who  were  sick  in  the  family. 

"  I  seen  him,  your  honor,  go  into  the  house  ;  and  he's 
there  this  minute.  If  your  honor  makes  haste  you'll  catch 
him." 

In  less  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour  Sir  Robert  ;,nd  his  crew 
were  in  stirrups,  and  on  their  way  to  Tom  Brady's ;  and  in 
the  mean  time,  too,  the  sheriff,  dressed  as  he  was,  in  black, 
came  outside  the  door,  from  time  to  time,  more  in  apprehen- 
sion of  a  plot  against  his  life  than  of  a  visit  from  V,  hiiecraft, 
which  he  knew  must  end  in  nothing.  Now,  Whitecraft  and 
his  followers,  on  approaching  Brady's  house,  caught  a  glimpse 
of  him — a  circumstance  which  not  only  confirmed  the  baro- 
net in  the  correctness  of  the  information  he  had  received,  but 
also  satisfied  the  sheriff  that  the  mendicant  had  not  deceived 
him.  Rapid  was  the  rush  they  made  to  Brady's  house,  and 
the  very  first  that  entered  it  was  the  Red  Rapparee.  He  was 
about  to  seize  the  sheriff,  whom  he  pretended  not  to  know ; 
but  in  a  moment  Sir  Robert  and  the  rest  entered,  when,  on 
recognizing  each  other,  an  explanation  took  place,  with  all 
due  apologies  to  the  functionary,  who  said  : 

"The  mistake.  Sir  Robert,  is  very  natural.  I  certainly 
have  a  clerical  appearance,  as  I  am  in  mourning  for  my  wife. 
I  trust  you  will  neither  hang  nor  transport  me." 

"  I  am  very  sorry  indeed,  Mr.  Oxley ;  but  I  only  acted  on 
information  received." 

"And  I  don't  doubt.  Sir  Robert,"  replied  the  sheriff,  "that 
the  person  who  gave  you  the  information  may  have  been  de- 
ceived himself  by  my  ecclesiastical  looking  dress.  I  am  sorry 
you  have  had  so  much  trouble  for  nothing;  but,  upon  my 
word,  I  feel  extremely  delighted  that  I  am  not  a  priest." 


264 


WILLY  REILLY. 


In  the  meantime  the  sheriff  had  recognized  the  Rapparee, 
by  a  single  glance,  as  ihe  man  that  had  robbed  him.  He  was 
now  certain  ;  but  he  took  care  not  to  bestow  the  least  sign  of 
recognition  upon  him  ;  so  far  from  that,  he  appeared  to  pay  no 
attention  whatsoever  to  the  men;  but  chatted  with  Sir  Rob- 
ert for  some  time,  who  returned  home  deeply  disappointed, 
though  without  imputing  blame  to  his  informant,  who,  he 
thought,  was  very  naturally  misled  by  the  dress  of  the  sheriff. 
Fergus,  however,  apprehensive  of  being  involved  in  the  pros- 
ecution of  the  Rapparee,  and  thus  discovered,  made  a  point 
to  avoid  the  sheriff,  whose  cross-examination  a  consciousness 
of  his  previous  life  led  him  to  dread.  Still,  he  had,  to  a 
certain  extent,  though  not  definitely,  resrjved  to  become 
evidence  against  him  ;  but  only  as  we  have  said,  on  the  con- 
dition of  previously  receiving  a  full  pardon  for  his  own  mis- 
deeds, which  was  granted.  For  upwards  of  a  month,  how- 
ever, the  sheriff  was  confined  to  his  bed,  having  caught,  whilst 
in  Brady's,  the  malignant  fever  which  then  raged  throughout 
the  country. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

SOMETHING   NOT  VERY   PLEASANT   FOR   ALL    PARTIES. 

The  position  of  England  at  this  period  was  anything  but 
an  easy  one.  The  rebellion  of  '45  had  commenced,  and  the 
young  Pretender  had  gained  some  signal  victories.  Inde- 
pendently of  this,  she  was  alarmed  by  the  rumor  of  a  French 
invasion  on  her  southern  coast.  Apprehensive  lest  the  Irish 
Catholics,  galled  and  goaded  as  they  were  by  the  influence  of 
the  penal  laws,  and  the  dreadful  persecution  which  they 
caused  them  to  suffer,  should  flock  to  the  standard  of  Prince 
Charles,  himself  a  Catholic,  she  deemed  it  expedient,  in  due 
time,  to  relax  a  little,  and  accordingly  she  "checked  her  hand, 
and  changed  her  pride."  Milder  measures  were  soon  resorted 
to,  during  this  crisis,  in  order  that  by  a  more  liberal  adminis' 
tration  of  justice  the  resentment  of  the  suffering  Catholics 
might  be  conciliated,  and  their  loyalty  secured.  This,  how. 
ever,  was  a  proceeding  less  of  justice  than  expediency,  and 
resulted  more  from  the  actual  and  impending  difficulties  of 
England  than  from  any  sincere  vush  on  her  part  to  give  civil 


WILL  Y  REILL  Y.  265 

and  religious  freedom  to  her  Catholic  subjects,  or  prosperity 
to  the  country  in  which,  even  then,  their  numbers  largely  pre- 
dominated. Yet,  singular  to  say,  when  the  Rebellion  first 
broke  out,  all  the  chapels  in  Dublin  were  closed,  and  the  ad- 
ministration, as  if  guided  by  some  unintelligible  infatuation, 
issued  a  proclamation,  commanding  the  Catholic  priesthood 
to  depart  from  the  city.  Those  who  refused  this  senseless 
and  impolitic  edict  were  threatened  with  the  utmost  severity 
of  the  law.  Harsh  as  that  law  was,  the  Catholics  obeyed  it ; 
yet  even  this  obedience  did  not  satisfy  the  Protestant  party, 
or  rather  that  portion  of  them  who  were  active  agents  in  car- 
rying out  this  imprudent  and  unjustifiable  rigor  at  such  a  pe- 
riod. They  were  seized  by  a  kind  of  panic,  and  imagined 
forsooth  that  a  broken  down  and  disarmed  people  might  en- 
gage in  a  general  massacre  of  the  Irish  Protestants.  Whether 
this  incomprehensible  terror  was  real,  is  a  matter  of  doubt  and 
uncertainty;  or  whether  it  was  assumed  as  a  justification  for 
assailing  the  Catholics  in  a  general  massacre,  similar  to  that 
which  they  apprehended,  or  pretended  to  apprehend,  is  also 
a  matter  of  question  ;  yet  certain  it  is,  that  a  proposal  to  mas- 
sacre them  in  cold  blood  was  made  in  the  Privy  Council. 
"But,"  says  O'Connor,  "the  humanity  of  the  members  re- 
jected this  barbarous  proposal,  and  crushed  in  its  infancy  a 
conspiracy  hatched  in  Lurgan  to  extirpate  the  Catholics  of 
that  town  and  vicinity." 

In  the  mean  time,  so  active  was  the  persecuting  spirit  of 
such  men  as  Whitecraft  and  Smellpriest  that  a  great  num- 
ber of  the  unfortunate  priests  fled  to  the  metropolis,  where,  in 
a  large  and  populous  city,  they  had  a  better  chance  of  remain- 
ing incogniti  than  when  living  in  the  country,  exposed  and 
likely  to  be  more  marked  by  spies  and  informers.  A  very 
dreadful  catastrophe  took  place  about  this  time.  A  congre- 
gation of  Catholic  people  had  heard  mass  upon  an  old  loft, 
which  had  for  many  years  been  decayed — in  fact,  actually 
rotten.  Mass  was  over,  and  the  priest  was  about  to  give  them 
the  parting  benediction,  when  the  floor  went  down  with  a  ter- 
rific crash.  The  result  was  dreadful.  Tlie  priest  and  a  great 
many  of  the  congregation  were  killed  on  the  spot,  and  a  vast 
number  of  them  wounded  and  maimed  for  life.  The  Protes- 
tant inhabitants  of  Dublin  sympathized  deeply  with  the  suf- 
ferers, whom  they  relieved  and  succored  as  far  as  in  them  lay, 
and,  by  their  remonstrances,  government  was  shamed  into  a 
ipore  human  administration  of  the  laws. 

In  order  to  satisfy  our  reader  that  we  have  not  overdrawn 


266  WILL  Y  REILL  Y. 

our  picture  of  what  the  Catholics  suffered  in  those  unhappy 
times,  we  shall  give  a  quotation  from  the  Messrs.  Chambers, 
of  Edinburgh,  themselves  fair  and  liberal  men,  and  as  impar- 
tial as  they  are  able  and  well  informed : 

"Since  the  pacification  of  Limerick,  Ireland  had  been 
ruled  exclusively  by  the  Protestant  party,  who,  under  the  in- 
fluence of  feelings  arising  from  local  and  religious  antipathies, 
had  visited  the  Catholics  with  many  severities.  The  oath 
which  had  excluded  the  Catholics  from  office  had  been  fol- 
lowed, in  1698,  by  an  Act  of  the  Irish  Parliament,  command- 
ing all  Romish  priests  to  leave  the  kingdom,  under  the  pen- 
alty of  transportation,  a  return  from  which  was  to  be  punish- 
able by  death.  Another  law  decreed  forfeiture  of  property 
and  civil  rights  to  all  who  should  send  their  children  abroad 
to  be  educated  in  the  Catholic  faith."  * 

Can  any  reasonable  person  be  in  doubt  for  a  moment  that 
those  laws  were  laws  of  extermination?  In  the  mean  time, 
let  us  hear  the  Messrs.  Chambers  further: 

"  After  the  death  of  William,  who  was  much  opposed  to 
severities  on  account  of  religion,  Acts  of  still  greater  rigor 
were  passed  for  preventing  the  growth  of  Popery.  Any  child 
of  a  Roman  Catholic  who  should  declare  himself  a  Protestant 
was  entitled  to  become  the  heir  of  his  estate,  the  father  merely 
holding  it  for  his  lifetime,  and  having  no  command  over  it. 
Catholics  were  made  incapable  of  succeeding  to  Protestants, 
and  lands,  passing  over  them,  were  to  go  to  the  next  Protes- 
tant heir.  Catholic  parents  were  prevented  from  being  guar- 
dians to  their  own  children  ;  no  Protestant  possessing  prop- 
erty was  to  be  permitted  to  marry  a  Catholic ;  and  Catholics 
were  rendered  incapable  of  purchasing  landed  propert}-,  or 
enjoying  long  leases.  These  measures  naturally  rendered  the 
Catholics  discontented  subjects,  and  led  to  much  turbulence, 
the  common  people  of  that  persuasion,  being  denied  all  access 
to  justice,  took  it  into  their  own  hands,  and  acquired  all  those 
lawless  habits  for  which  they  have  since  been  remarkable. 
Treachery,  cruelty,  and  all  the  lower  passions,  were  called 
into  vigorous  exercise.  Even  the  Protestants,  for  their  own 
sakes,  were  often  obliged  to  connive  at  the  evasion  of  laws  so 
extremely  severe,  and  which  introduced  much  difficulty  in 
their  dealings  with  Catholics  ;  but,  when  any  Protestant  wished 
to  be  revenged  upon  a  Catholic,  or  to  extort  money  from  him. 
he  found  in  these  laws  a  ready  instrument  for  his  purpose. 

•  "  History  and  Present  State   of  the   British   Empire."     Edinburgh,   W.  and  R. 
Chambers. 


WILL  V  RE  ILL  Y.  267 

By  an  additional  Act,  in  1726,  it  was  ordained  that  a  Roman 
Catholic  priest,  marrying  a  Protestant  to  a  Catholic,  should 
suffer  death;  and  in  order  that  legal  redress  might  be  still  less 
accessible  to  the  Catholics,  it  was  enacted,  in  1728,  that  no 
one  should  be  entitled  to  practise  as  an  attorney  who  had  not 
been  two  years  a  Protestant." 

This  is  a  clear  and  succinct  epitome  of  the  penal  laws  ; 
true,  much  more  might  be  added  ;  but  it  is  enough  to  say 
that  those  who  sow  the  wind  will  reap  the  whirlwind.  It  is 
not  by  placing  restrictions  upon  creeds  or  ceremonies  that 
religion  can  ever  be  checked,  much  less  extinguished.  Like 
the  camomile  plant,  the  more  it  is  trampled  on  the  more  it 
will  spread  and  grow  ;  as  the  rude  winds  and  the  inclemency 
of  the  elements  only  harden  and  make  more  vigorous  the 
constitutions  of  those  who  are  exposed  to  them.  In  our 
state  of  the  world,  those  who  have  the  administration  of 
political  laws  in  their  hands,  if  they  ever  read  history,  or  can 
avail  diemselves  of  the  experiences  of  ages,  ought  to  know 
that  it  is  not  by  severity  or  persecution  that  the  affections  of 
their  fellow-subjects  can  be  conciliated.  We  ourselves  once 
knew  a  brutal  ruffian,  who  was  a  dealer  in  fruit  in  the  little 
town  of  Maynooth,  and  whose  principle  of  correcting  his 
children  was  to  continue  whipping  the  poor  things  until  they 
were  forced  to  laugh!  A  person  was  one  day  present  when 
he  commenced  chastising  one  of  them — a  child  of  about  seven 
— upon  this  barbarous  principle.  This  individual  was  then 
young  and  strong,  and  something  besides  of  a  pugilist ;  but 
on  witnessing  the  affecting  efforts  of  the  little  fellow  to  do 
that  which  was  not  within  the  compass  o'f  any  natural  effort, 
he  deliberately  knocked  the  ruffian  down,  after  having  first 
remonstrated  with  him  to  no  purpose.  He  arose,  however, 
and  attacked  the  other,  but,  thanks  to  a  good  arm  and  a 
quick  eye,  he  prostrated  him  again,  and  again,  and  again  ;  he 
then  caught  him  by  the  throat,  for  he  was  already  subdued, 
and  squeezing  his  windpipe  to  some  purpose,  the  fellow  said, 
in  a  choking  voice,  "  Are  you  going  to  kill  me  ? " 

"  No,"  replied  the  other,  "  I  only  want  to  see  the  iength 
of  your  tongue  ;  don't  be  alarmed,  the  whole  thing  will  end 
merrily  ;  come,  now,  give  three  of  the  heartiest  laughs  you 
ever  gave  in  your  life,  or  down  goes  your  apple-cart — ^you 
know  what  that  means  ? '' 

"  I — I  c — a — n' — t,"  said  he. 

''  Yes,  you  can,"  replied  his  castigator  ;  "nothing's  more 
easy  ;  come,  be  merry," 


268  WJLLV  REILLY. 

'I'he  caitiff,  for  he  was  a  coward,  and  wanted  bottom,  upon 
getting  a  little  wind,  whilst  the  other  held  him  by  the  throat, 
gave  three  of  the  most  ludicrous,  but  disastrous,  howls  that 
ever  were  witnessed.  On  his  opponent  letting  him  go,  he 
took  to  his  heels,  but  got  a  kick  on  going  out  that  was  rather 
calculated  to  accelerate  his  flight.  Legislators,  therefore, 
ought  to  know  that  no  political  whipping  will  ever  make  a 
people  laugh  at  the  pleasure  of  it. 

But  to  resume  our  narrative.  England,  now  apprehen- 
sive, as  we  have  said,  of  a  descent  of  the  French  upon  her 
southern  coast,  and  startled  by  the  successes  of  the  young 
Pretender,  who  had  cut  Cope's  army  to  pieces,  deemed  it 
expedient  to  send  over  the  celebrated  Earl  of  Chesterfield  as 
Viceroy,  with  instructions  to  relax  the  rigor  of  the  laws,  and 
conciliate  the  Catholics,  as  well  as  he  could,  so,  at  least,  as 
to  prevent  them  from  joining  the  Pretender,  whose  object  it 
was  understood  to  be  to  cross  the  frontier  and  march  upon 
London.  Lord  Chesterfield's  policy  afforded  great  gratifi- 
cation to  the  Catholics,  who  were  now  restored  to  their  usual 
privileges  ;  and  its  political  object  was  so  far  successful  that, 
as  we  have  said,  not  a  single  man  of  them  ever  joined  the 
Pretender.  Still,  the  liberal  Protestants,  or,  as  they  were 
termed,  the  patriotic  party,  were  not  satisfied  with  the  mere 
removal  of  the  Catholic  restrictions.  Ireland,  at  that  time, 
was  studded  with  men,  or  rather  with  monsters,  like  Smell- 
priest  and  Whitecraft,  who  were  stained  with  the  blood 
of  their  fellow-subjects  and  fellow-Christians.  Sir  Robert 
Whitecraft,  especially,  was  now  in  a  bad  position,  although 
he  himself  was  ignorant  of  it.  The  French  Ambassador  de- 
manded satisfaction,  in  the  name  of  his  Court  and  the  French 
nation,  for  the  outrage  that  had  been  committed  upon  a 
French  subject,  and  by  which  international  law  was  so 
grossly  violated.  We  must  say  here  that  Whitecraft,  in  the 
abundance  of  his  loyalty  and  zeal,  was  in  the  habit,  in  his 
searches  after  priests,  and  suspected  lay  Catholics,  to  pay 
domiciliary  visits  to  the  houses  of  many  Protestant  magis- 
trates, clergymen,  and  even  gentlemen  of  wealth  and  distinc- 
tion, who  were  suspected,  from  their  known  enmity  to  per- 
secution, of  harboring  Catholic  priests  and  others  of  that 
persuasion  ;  so  that,  in  point  of  fact,  he  had  created  more 
enemies  in  the  country  than  any  man  living.     The  Marquis 

of ,  Mr.    Hastings,    Mr.    Brown,    together    with    a    great 

number  of  the  patriotic  party,  had  already  transmitted  a 
petition  to  the  Lord  Lieutenant,  under  the  former  adminis- 


WILL  Y  REILL  V.  560 

tration  ;  but  it  was  not  attended  to,  the  only  answer  they  got 
having  been  a  simple  acknowledgment  of  its  receipt.  This, 
on  coining  to  Sir  Robert's  ears,  which  it  did  from  one  of  the 
underlings  of  the  Castle,  only  gave  a  spur  to  his  insolence, 
and  still  more  tiercely  stimulated  his  persecuting  spirit.  He 
felt  conscious  that  Government  would  protect  him,  or  rather 
reward  him,  for  any  acts  of  violence  which  he  might  commit 
against  the  Catholic  party,  and  so  far,  under  his  own  pet 
administration,  he  was  right. 

The  peiilion  we  have  alluded  to  having  been  treated  with 
studied  contempt,  the  persons  and  party  already  mentioned 
came  to  the  determination  of  transmitting  another,  still  more 
full  and  urgent,  to  the  new  Viceroy,  whose  feeling  it  was,  for 
the  reasons  we  have  stated,  to  reverse  the  policy  of  his  pre- 
decessor. 

His  liberal  administration  encouraged  them,  therefore,  to 
send  him  a  clear  statement  of  the  barbarous  outrages  com- 
mitted by  such  men  as  Smellpriest  and  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft, 
not  only  against  his  Majesty's  Roman  Catholic  subjects,  but 
against  many  loyal  Protestant  magistrates,  and  other  Protes- 
tants of  distinction  and  property,  merely  because  they  were 
supposed  to  entertain  a  natural  sympathy  for  their  persecuted 
fellow-subjects  and  fellow-countrymen.  They  said  that  the 
conduct  of  these  men  and  of  the  Government  that  had  coun- 
tenanced and  encouraged  them  had  destroyed  the  prosperity 
of  the  country  by  interrupting  and  annulling  all  dona  fide 
commercial  transactions  between  Protestants  and  Catholics. 
That  those  men  had  not  only  transgressed  the  instructions 
they  received  from  his  predecessor,  but  all  those  laws  that  go 
to  the  security  of  life  and  property.  That  they  were  guilty 
of  several  cruel  and  atrocious  murders,  arsons,  and  false 
imprisonments,  for  which  they  were  never  brought  to  ac- 
count ;  and  that,  in  fine,  they  were  steeped  in  crime  and 
blood,  because  they  knew  that  his  predecessor,  ignorant, 
perhaps,  of  the  extent  of  their  guilt,  threw  his  shield  over 
them,  and  held  them  irresponsible  to  the  laws  for  those  sav- 
age outrages. 

They  then  stated  that,  in  their  humble  judgment,  a  mere 
relaxation  in  the  operation  of  the  severe  and  penal  laws 
against  Catholics  would  not  be  an  act  of  sufficient  atonement 
to  them  for  all  they  had  previously  suffered  ;  that  to  over- 
look, or  connive  at,  or  protect  those  great  criminals  would  be 
at  variance,  not  only  with  all  principles  of  justice,  but  with 
the  spirit  of  the  British  Constitution  itself,  which  never  recog- 


270 


WILL  V  RE  ILL  Y. 


nizes,  much  less  encourages,  a  wicked  and  deliberate  viola- 
tion of  its  own  laws.  That  the  present  was  a  critical  moment, 
which  demanded  great  judgment  and  equal  humanity  in  the 
administration  of  the  laws  in  Ireland.  A  rebellion  was  suc- 
cessfully progressing  in  Scotland,  and  it  appeared  to  them 
that  not  only  common  justice  but  sound  policy  ought  to 
prompt  the  government  to  attract  and  conciliate  the  Catholic 
population  of  Ireland  by  allowing  them  to  participate  in  the 
benefits  of  the  Constitution,  which  hitherto  existed  not  for 
them,  thousands  of  whom,  finding  their  country  but  a  bed  of 
thorns,  might,  from  a  mere  sense  of  relief,  or,  what  was  more 
to  be  dreaded,  a  spirit  of  natural  vengeance,  flock  to  the 
standard  of  the  Pretender. 

His  Excellency,  already  aware  of  the  startling  but  just  de- 
mand which  had  been  made  by  the  French  Ambassador,  for 
the  national  insult  by  Whitecraft  to  his  country,  was  himself 
startled  and  shocked  by  the  atrocities  of  those  blood-stained 
delinquents. 

His  reply,  however,  was  brief,  but  to  the  purpose. 

His  secretary  acknowledged  the  receipt  of  the  memorial, 
and  stated  that  the  object  of  his  Excellency  was  not  to  ad- 
minister the  laws  in  cruelty,  but  in  mercy  ;  that  he  consid- 
ered all  classes  of  his  Majesty's  subjects  equally  entitled  to 
their  protection  ;  and  that  with  respect  to  the  persons 
against  whom  such  serious  charges  and  allegations  had  been 
made,  he  had  only  to  say,  that  if  they  were  substantiated 
against  them  in  a  court  of  justice,  they  must  suffer  like  other 
criminals — if  they  can  be  proved,  government  will  leave 
them,  as  it  would  any  common  felons,  to  the  laws  of  the 
country.  His  Excellency  is  determined  to  administer  those 
laws  with  the  strictest  impartiality,  and  without  leaning  to 
any  particular  class  or  creed.  So  far  as  the  laws  will  allow 
him,  their  protection  shall  be  extended,  on  just  and  equal 
principles,  to  the  poor  and  to  the  rich,  to  the  Catholic  and  to 
the  Protestant. 

This  communication,  which  was  kept  strictly  secret, 
reached  the  Marquis  of at  a  critical  period  of  our  nar- 
rative. Whitecraft,  who  was  ignorant  of  it,  but  sufficiently 
aware  of  the  milder  measures  which  the  new  Administration 
had  adopted,  finding  that  the  trade  of  priest-hunting  and 
persecution  was,  for  the  present,  at  an  end,  resolved  to  ac- 
celerate his  marriage  with  Miss  Folliard,  and  for  this  purpose 
he  waited  upon  her  father,  in  order  to  secure  his  consent. 
His  object  was  to  retire  to  his  English  estates,  and  there  pass 


WILLY  REILLY.  271 

the  remainder  of  his  life  with  his  beautiful  but  reluctant  bride. 
He  paid  his  visit  about  two  o'clock,  and  was  told  that  Miss 
Folliard  and  her  father  were  in  the  garden.  Hither  he  ac- 
cordingly repaired,  and  found  the  squire,  his  daughter,  and 
Reilly,  in  the  green-house.  When  the  squire  saw  him  he  cried 
out,  with  something  of  a  malicious  triumph  : 

"  Hallo,  Sir  Robert !  'why  art  thou  so  pale,  young  lover  ? 
why  art  thou  so  pale  ? ' — and  why  does  thy  lip  hang,  Sir  Rob- 
ert ? — new  men,  new  measures.  Sir  Robert — and  so,  '  Othello's 
occupation's  gone,'  and  the  Earl  of  Chesterfield  goes  to  mass 
every  Sunday,  and  is  now  able  to  repeat  \\\%  padareens  in  Irish." 

"  I  am  g'lad  to  find  you  so  pleasant,  Mr.  Folliard  ;  but 
I'm  delighted  to  see  the  beautiful  state  of  your  green-house — 
oh.  Miss  Folliard ! — excuse  me.  Your  back  was  to  me,  and 
you  were  engaged  in  trailing  that  beautiful  shrub  3  allow  me 
the  honor  of  shaking  hands  with  you." 

"  Sir  Robert,  I  bid  you  good  day,  but  you  see  that  I  have 
my  garden  gloves  on  ;  you  will  excuse  me." 

"  Oh,  Miss  Folliard,"  he  replied,  "  your  will  is  the  spirit 
of  the  British  Constitution  to  me." 

"  A  spirit  which,  I  fear,  you  have  too  frequently  violated, 
Sir  Robert ;  but,  as  papa  says,  I  believe  your  cruel  occupation 
is  gone — at  least  I  hope  so." 

"  'Gad,  you  got  it  there,  Sir  Robert,"  replied  her  father, 
laughing. 

"  I  must  confess  it,"  replied  the  baronet;  "but  I  think, 
in  order  to  ingratiate  myself  with  Miss  Folliard,  I  shall  take 
whatever  side  she  recommends  me.  How,  Mr.  Folliard,"  he 
proceeded,  fixing  his  eyes  upon  Reilly — "  what  the  deuce  is 
this  ?     Have  you  got  Robinson  Crusoe  here  ?  " 

"We  have,"  replied  the  squire;  "but  his  man  Friday  has 
got  married  to  a  Tipperary  woman,  and  he's  now  in  quest  of  a 
desert  island  for  him  and  her  to  settle  in." 

"  I  think,  papa,"  said  Helen,  "  that  if  the  principles  of  Sir 
Robert  and  his  class  were  carried  out,  he  would  not  have  far 
to  go  to  look  for  one." 

"Another  hit.  Bob,  you  dog — another  hit.  Well  said, 
Helen — well  said,  I  say.  Crusoe,  you  villain,  hold  up  your 
head,  and  thank  God  you're  christened." 

"Widde  help  o'  Gad,  shir,  I  was  christened  afwhore,  sure, 
by  the  priesht." 

This  visit  occurred  about  six  weeks  after  the  appointment 
of  the  new  Viceroy  to  the  Government  of  Ireland,  and  about 
five  after  the  sheriff's  illness. 


272 


WILL  V  REILL  Y. 


"  Come,  Whitecraft,"  said  the  squire,  "  come  and  let  us 
have  lunch  :  I'll  hold  a  crown  I  give  you  as  good  a  glass  of 
Burgundy  as  you  gave  me  the  other  day,  and  will  say  done 
first." 

"  Won't  Miss  Folliard  join  us  at  lunch  ?  "  asked  White- 
craft,  looking  at  her  for  assent. 

"  Why,  I  suppose  so,"  replied  her  father ;  "  won't  you 
come,  Helen  ?  " 

"  You  know,  papa,  I  never  lunch." 

"  'Gad,  and  neither  you  do,  Helen.  Come,  Sir  Robert, 
we  will  have  a  mouthful  to  eat,  and  something  good  to  wash 
it  down  ;  come  along,  man,  what  the  devil  are  you  scrutiniz- 
ing poor  old  Robinson  Crusoe  tor  1  Come  along  I  say,  the 
old  chap  is  making  the  green-house  thrive  ;  he  beats  Malcom- 
son.  Here,  Malcomson,  you  know  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft, 
don't  you  ?  " 

"  Hout,  your  honor,  wha'  disna  ken  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft: 
Isn't  his  name  far  and  near,  as  a  braw  defender  o'  the  faith, 
and  a  putter  down  o'  Papistry  ?  " 

"By  the  way,  Malcomson,"  said  Sir  Robert,  "where  did 
you  get  Robinson  Crusoe,  by  which  I  mean  that  wild-looking 
man  in  the  green-house  ?  " 

"Saul,  sir,  it's  a  question  I  never  speered  at  him.  He 
cam'  here  as  a  gaberlunzie,  and  on  stating  that  he  was  indoc- 
trinated in  the  sceence  o'  butlany,  his  honor  garred  me  em- 
ploy him.  De'il  hae't  but  the  truth  I'll  tell — he's  a  clever 
buttanist,  and  knows  a'  the  sceentific  names  affhand." 

"  So  that's  all  you  know  about  him  ? "  said  Sir  Robert. 
"  He  has  a  devil  of  a  beard,  and  is  shockingly  dressed.  Why 
doesn't  he  shave  ?  " 

"  Ou,  just  some  Papistry  nonsense,"  replied  the  gardener ; 
"  but  we  hae  naething  to  do  wi'  that,  sae  lang's  we  get  the 
worth  o'  our  siller  out  o'  him." 

"  Here's  a  shilling,  Malcomson,"  said  Sir  Robert. 

"  Na,  na,  your  honor  ;  a  shilling's  no  for  a  man  that  un- 
derstands the  sceence  o'  buttany  :  a  shilling's  for  a  flunky  in 
livery;  but  as  for  me,  I  couldna  conscientiously  condescend 
upon  less  than  ten  o'  them,  or  may  be  a  pund  British,  but  I'm 
feart  that's  contrair  to  your  honor's  habits." 

"Well,  then,"  said  Sir  Robert,  "I  have  no  more  silver, 
and  so  I  leave  you  to  the  agreeable  society  of  Robinson 
Crusoe." 

Reilly  had  watched  Sir  Robert's  motions,  as  well  as  his 
countenance,  in   a  manner  as  furtively   as  possible.     Some- 


WILLY  REILLY.  273 

times,  indeed,  he  stared  at  him  broadly,  and  with  a  stupid, 
oafish  look,  and  again  placed  himself  in  such  a  position  be- 
hind the  range  of  flower-pots  which  were  placed  upon  the 
ledges,  that  he  could  observe  him  without  being  perceived 
himself.  The  force  of  habit,  however,  is  extraordinary.  Our 
hero  was  a  man  exceedingly  remarkable  for  personal  cleanli- 
ness, and  consequently  made  a  point  to  wash  his  hands  morn- 
ing and  evening  with  peculiar  care.  Be  this  as  it  may,  the 
lynx  eye  of  Sir  Robert  observed  their  whiteness,  and  he  in- 
stantly said  to  himself,  "  This  is  no  common  laborer  ;  I  know 
that  he  is  not,  from  the  whiteness  of  his  hands.  Besides,  he 
is  disguised  ;  it  is  evident  from  the  length  of  his  beard,  and 
the  unnecessary  coarseness  of  his  apparel.  Then  his  figure, 
the  symmetry  and  size  of  which  no  disguise  can  conceal ; 
this,  and  everything  else,  assures  me  that  he  is  disguised,  and 
that  he  is,  besides,  no  other  individual  than  the  man  I  want, 
William  Reilly,  who  has  been  hitherto  my  evil  genius  ;  but  it 
shall  go  hard  with  me,  or  I  shall  be  his  now."  Such  were  his 
niedi'ations  as  he  passed  along  with  the  squire  to  join  him  at 
lunch. 

When  they  had  left  the  garden,  Reilly  addressed  his  Cool- 
eeji  Bawn  as  follows  : 

"  Helen,  I  am  discovered." 

"  Discovered  !    O  my  God,  no !  " 

"Unquestionably,  there  is  no  doubt  of  it;  it  is  certain." 

"  But  how  do  you  know  that  it  is  certain?  " 

"  Because  I  observed  that  Whitecraft's  eyes  were  never  off 
my  hands  ;  he  knew  that  a  common  laborer  could  not  possibly 
have  such  hands.     Helen,  I  am  discovered,  and  must  fly.'' 

"  But  you  know  that  there  is  a  change  of  Administration, 
and  that  the  severity  of  the  law  has  been  relaxed  against 
Catholics." 

"Yes,  you  told  me  so,  and  I  have  no  fear  for  myself ;  but 
what  I  apprehend  is  that  this  discovery,  of  which  I  feel  cer- 
tain, will  precipitate  your  marriage  with  that  miscreant  ;  they 
will  entrap  you  into  it,  and  then  I  am  miserable  forever." 

"Then,  William,  we  must  fly  this  very  night ;  we  will  pro- 
ceed to  the  Continent,  to  some  Protestant  state,  where  we  can 
get  married  without  any  danger  to  the  clergyman  who  may 
unite  us.' 

"It  is  all  that  is  left  for  us,"  replied  Reilly;  "I  should 
sooner  lose  life  than  you,  my  beloved  Helen  ;  and  now,  what 
is  to  be  done  ?  Fly  we  must  ;  and  in  anticipation  of  the  ne- 
cessity of  this  step'  I  left  a  suit  of  clothes  with  Lanigan  :  or 


274  WILL  y  REILL  V. 

rather  with  a  poor  widow,  wlio  was  a  pensioner  of  mine — a 
Mrs.  Buckley,  from  whom  Lanigan  got  them,  and  has  them. 
I  could  not  think  of  accompanying  you  in  this  vile  dress.  On 
your  way  in,  try  to  see  Lanigan,  and  desire  him  to  come  out 
to  me.  There  is  not  a  moment  to  be  lost  ;  and,  my  dear 
Helen,  show  no  marks  of  agitation  ;  be  calm  and  firm,  or  we 
are  undone." 

"  Rely  on  me,  dear  Reilly,  rely  on  me  ;  I  shall  send  Lani- 
gan to  you." 

She  left  him,  and  went  to  her  room,  where  she  rang  the 
bell,  and  her  maid,  the  faithful  Connor,  who  had  been  restored 
to  her  service,  came  to  her. 

"  Connor,"  said  she,  "  I  shall  not  be  able  to  dine  with  papa 
to-day,  especially  as  that  wretch  Whitecraft  is  likely  to  dine 
with  him.  Go  to  Lanigan,  and  tell  him  to  come  to  me,  for  I 
wish  to  know  if  he  has  anything  light  and  delicate  that  he 
could  send  to  my  room  ;  Connor,  I  am  very  unhappy." 

"  But,  miss,  sure  they  say  that  the  laws  are  changed,  and 
that  Mr.  Reilly  may  go  at  large  if  he  wishes." 

"  I  know  that,  Connor  ;  but  send  Lanigan  to  me  immedi- 
ately." 

When  Lanigan  entered  he  found  the  Coolcen  Bmvn  in 
tears. 

"  My  God,  Miss  Folliard,"  said  he,  "what  is  the  matter 
with  you .''  why  are  you  crying,  or  what  have  they  done  to 
you  ? " 

"  Lanigan,"  she  replied,  wiping  her  eyes,  "  you  and  Con- 
nor only  are  in  our  secret  ;  we  must  fly  this  night." 

"  This  night,  Miss  Folliard  !  " 

"This  night,  Lanigan  ;  and  you  must  assist  us." 

"  To  the  last  drop  of  my  blood,  I  will." 

"Lanigan,  Reilly  is  discovered." 

"Discovered,  miss!  good  God,  how  was  he  discovered?" 

"By  his  hands — by  the  whiteness  of  his  beautiful  hands. 
Now,  Lanigan,  Sir  Robert,  aware  that  he  cannot  act  the  ty- 
rant at  present,  as  he  used  to  do,  will  instigate  my  father  to 
some  act  of  outrage  against  him  :  for  you  know,  Lanigan, 
how  cowardly,  how  cruel,  how  vindictive,  the  detestable  vil- 
lain is  ;  and  most  assuredly  he  will  make  my  credulous  and 
generous,  but  hot-tempered,  father  the  instrument  of  his  ven- 
geance upon  Reilly  ;  and,  besides,  he  will  certainly  urge  him 
to  bring  about  an  immediate  marriage  between  himself  and 
me,  to  which,  it  is  true,  I  would,  and  will  die,  sooner  than  con- 
sent.    I  will  dine   here,  Lanigan,  for  I   cannot  bear  to  look 


WILL  Y  REILL  Y. 


ns 


upon  my  dear  father,  whom  I  am  about  to — "  Here  her 
tears  interrupted  her,  and  she  could  proceed  no  farther  \  at 
length  she  recovered  herself,  and  resumed  :  "  I  know,"  she 
added,  "  that  Whitecraft  is  now  detailing  his  discovery  and 
his  plans.  Oh  !  that  for  Reilly's  sake,  I  could  become  ac- 
quainted with  them  I  " 

"What  would  you  wish  for  dinner,  Miss  Folliard  ?  "  asked 
Lanigan  calmly. 

"For  dinner?  oh,  anything,  anything;  I  care  not  what; 
but  see  Reilly,  tell  him  I  have  a  second  key  for  the  back 
gate  in  the  garden,  and  also  for  the  front  ;  and,  Lani- 
gan-" 

"  Well,  Miss  Folliard  ;  but  for  God's  sake,  don't  cry  so  ; 
your  eyes  will  get  red,  and  your  father  may  notice  it." 

"  True,  thank  you,  Lanigan  ;  and  Reilly,  besides,  told  me 
to  keep  myself  calm  ;  but  how  can  I,  Lanigan  ?  Oh,  my 
father  !  my  beloved  father!  how  can  I  abandon — desert  him  ? 
No,  Lanigan,  I  will  not  go  ;  say  to  Reilly — say  I  have  changed 
my  mind  ;  tell  him  that  my  affection  for  my  father  has  over- 
come my  love  for  him  ;  say  I  will  never  marry — that  my  heart 
is  his,  and  never  will  or  can  be  another's.  But  then  again — 
he,  the  noble-minded,  the  brave,  the  generous,  the  disinter- 
ested— alas  !  I  know  not  what  to  do,  Lanigan,  nor  how  to 
act.  If  I  remain  here,  they  will  strive  to  force  this  odious 
marriage  oh  me  ;  and  then  some  fearful  catastrophe  will  hap- 
pen ;  for,  sooner  than  marry  Whitecraft,  I  would  stab  either  him 
or  myself.  Either  that,  Lanigan,  or  I  should  go  mad  ;  for  do 
you  know,  Lanigan,  that  there  is  insanity  in  our  family,  by  my 
father's  side  ?  " 

''Unfortunately  I  know  it.  Miss  Folliard  ;  your  uncle  died 
in  a  mad-house,  and  it  was  in  that  way  the  estate  came  to 
your  father.  But  remember  what  you  say  Mr.  Reilly  told 
you;  be  calm;  I  will  send  up  some  light  nourishing  dinner 
to  you,  at  the  usual  hour ;  and  in  the  mean  time  I  will  see  him 
before  then,  and  forge  some  excuse  for  bringing  it  up  my- 
self." 

"  Stay,  Lanigan,  I  am  sadly  perplexed  ;  I  scarcely  know 
what  I  say ;  I  am  in  a  state  of  inconceivable  distraction. 
Suppose  I  should  change  my  mind  ;  it  is  not  unlikely  ;  I  am 
whirled  about  by  a  crowd  of  contending  emotions  ;  but — well 
— let  me  see — oh,  yes — it  will  be  as  well,  Lanigan,  to  have 
two  horses  ready  saddled  ;  that  is  no  crime,  I  hope,  if  we 
should  go.     I  must,  of  course,  put  on  my  riding  habit." 

"  Begging  your  pardon,  Miss  Folliard,  you'll  do  no  such 


276  WILL  Y  RE  ILL  Y. 

thing ;  would  you  wish  to  have  yourself  discovered  in  the 
first  inn  you  might  put  up  at?  No :  dress  yourself  in  one  of 
Connor's  dresses  so  tliat  you  may  appear  as  humble  as  pos- 
sible, and  anything  but  a  lady  of  rank  ;  otherwise,  it  will  be 
difficult  for  you  to  escape  observation." 

"  Well,  Lanigan,  all  I  can  say  is,  that  he  and  I  shall  place 
ourselves  under  your  advice  and  guidance.  But  my  father — 
oh,  my  dear  father  !  "  And  again  she  wrung  her  hands  and 
wept  bitterly. 

"  Miss  Helen,"  said  he,  "  as  sure  as  the  Lord's  in  heaven, 
you  will  discover  yourself;  and  after  all,  how  do  you  know 
that  Sir  Robert  has  found  out  Mr.  Reilly?  Sure  it's  nothing 
but  bare  suspicion  on  both  your  parts.  At  any  rate,  I'll  sad- 
dle Paudeen  O'Rafferty  wid  my  own  hands,  and  I'll  put  on 
Molly  Crudden's  big  pillion,  for  you  know  she's  too  fat  to 
walk  to  mass,  and  you  will  feel  yourself  quite  easy  and  com- 
fortable in  it." 

"  No,  no,  Lanigan  ;  I  know  not  why  the  impression  is  on 
me  ;  but  I  feel  as  if  I  were  never  to  experience  comfort  more. 
Go  to  Mr.  Reilly  ;  make  what  arrangements  he  and  you  may 
think  proper,  and  afterwards  you  can  acquaint  me  with  them. 
You  see,  Lanigan,  in  what  a  state  of  excitement  and  uncer- 
tainty I  am.  But  tell  Reilly  that,  rather  i/ian  be  forced  into  a 
marriage  with  Whitecraft — rather  than  go  distracted — rather 
THAN  DIE — I  shall  fly  with  him." 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

REILLY'S     disguise     penetrated  HE       ESCAPES  FERGUS 

REILLY  IS    ON  THE    TRAIL  OF    THE    RAPPAREE — SIR  ROBERT 
BEGINS  TO  FEEL  CONFIDENT  OF  SUCCESS. 

Lanigan,  on  passing  the  dining  parlor,  heard  what  he 
conceived  to  be  loud  and  angry  voices  inside  the  room,  and 
as  the  coast  was  clear  he  deliberately  put  his  ear  to  the  key- 
hole, which  ear  drank  in  the  following  conversation  : 

"  I  say.  Sir  Robert,  I'll  shoot  the  villain.  Do  not  hold 
me.  My  pistols  are  loaded  and  unloaded  every  day  in  the 
year  ;  and  ever  since  I  transpoited  that  rebel  priest  I  never 
go  without  them.  But  are  you  sure.  Sir  Robert?  Is  it  not 
possible  you  may  be  mistaken  ?     I  know  you  are  a  suspicious 


WILL  Y  REILL  Y. 


277 


fellow;  but  still,  as  I  said,  you  are,  for  that  very  reason,  the 
more  liable  to  be  wrong.  But,  if  it  is  he,  what's  to  be  done, 
unless  I    ho  \  liim  ?  " 

"Uiui  r  the  last  Administration,  sir,  I  could  have  an- 
swered }our  question;  but  3'ou  know  that  if  you  shoot  him 
now  you  will  be  hanged.  All  that's  left  for  us  is  simply  to 
effect  this  marriage  the  day  after  to-morrow  ;  the  documents 
are  all  ready,  and  in  the  course  of  to-morrow  the  license  can 
be  procured.  In  the  mean  time  you  must  despatch  him  to- 
night." 

"What  do  you  mean,  Sir  Robert  ?  " 

"  I  say  you  must  send  him  about  his  business.  In  point 
of  fact,  I  think  the  fellow  knows  that  he  is  discovered,  and  it 
is  not  unlikely  that  he  may  make  an  effort  to  carry  off  your 
daughter  this  very  night." 

"  But,  Sir  Robert,  can  we  not  seize  him  and  surrender  him 
to  the  authorities  ?     Is  he  not  an  outlaw  ?  " 

"  Unfortunately,  Mr.  FoUiard,  he  is  not  an  outlaw  ;  I 
stretched  a  little  too  far  there.  It  is  true  I  got  his  name 
put  into  the  Hue-and-Cry,  but  upon  representations  which  I 
cannot  prove." 

"  And  why  did  you  do  so.  Sir  Robert  ?  " 

"  Why,  Mr.  Folliard,  to  save  your  daughter." 

The  old  man  paused. 

"  Ah,"  he  exclaimed,  ''  that  is  a  bad  business — I  mean  for 
you,  Sir  Robert  ;  but  we  will  talk  it  over.  You  shall  stop 
and  dine  with  me  ;  I  want  some  one  to  talk  with — some  one 
who  will  support  me  and  keep  me  in  spirits ; "  and  as  he 
spoke  he  sobbed  bitterly.  ''  I  wish  to  God."  he  exclaimed, 
"that  neither  I  nor  Helen — my  dear  Helen — had  ever  seen 
that  fellow's  face.     You  will  dine  w  ith  me.  Bob  ?  " 

"  I  will  upon  the  strict  condition  that  you  keep  yourself 
quiet,  and  won't  seem  to  understand  anything." 

"  Would  you  recommend  me  to  lock  her  up  ?  " 

"  By  no  means  ;  that  would  only  make  matters  worse.  I 
shall  dine  with  you,  but  you  must  be  calm  and  quiet,  and  not 
seem  to  entertain  any  suspicions." 

"  Yery  well,  I  shall  ;  but  what  has  become  of  our  lunch  ? 
Touch  the  bell." 

This  hint  sent  Lanigan  down  stairs,  who  met  the  butler 
coming  up  with  it. 

"  Whv,  Pat,"  said  he,  •■  v.l.at  kept  you  so  long  with  the 
lunch  ?  "' 

"  I  was  just  thinking,"   replied   Pat,   *'  how   it  would  be 


2  y8  WILL  Y  REILL  Y. 

possible  to  poison  that  ugly,  ill-made,  long-legged  scoundrel, 
without  poisoning  my  master.  What's  to  be  done,  Lanigan? 
He  will  marry  this  darlin'  in  spite  of  us.  And  sure,  now  we 
have  our  privileges  once  more,  since  this  great  earl  came  to 
rule  over  us  ;  and  sure,  they  say,  he's  a  greater  gentleman 
than  the  king  himself.  All  I  can  say  is,  that  if  this  same  Sir 
Robert  forces  the  Cooleen  Bawn  to  such  an  unnatural  mar- 
riage, I'll  try  a  dose,  hit  or  miss,  for  a  cowheel  anyway." 

Lanigan  laughed,  and  the  butler  passed  on  with  the  lunch. 

We  may  state  here  that  the  squire,  notwithstanding  his  out- 
spoken manner  against  Popery,  like  a  terrible  reverend  baro- 
net not  long  deceased,  who,  notwithstanding  his  discovery  of 
the  most  awful  Popish  plots,  and  notwithstanding  the  most 
extravagant  denunciations  against  Popery,  like  him,  we  say, 
the  old  squire  seldom  had  more  than  one  or  two  Protestant 
servants  under  his  roof.  Pat  hated  Longshanks,  as  he 
termed  him,  as  did  all  the  household,  which,  indeed,  was  very 
natural,  as  he  was  such  a  notorious  persecutor  of  their  religion 
and  their  clergy. 

Lanigan  lost  no  time  in  acquainting  Reilly  with  what  he 
had  heard,  and  the  heart  of  the  latter  palpitated  with  alarm 
on  hearing  that  the  next  day  but  one  was  likely  to  join  his 
Cooleen  Bawn,  by  violent  and  unnatural  proceedings,  to  the 
man  whom  she  so  much  detested.  He  felt  that  it  was  now 
time  to  act  in  order  to  save  her.  Arrangements  were  con- 
sequently made  between  them  as  to  the  time  and  manner  of 
their  escape,  and  those  arrangements,  together  with  the 
dialogue  he  had  overheard,  Lanigan  communicated  to  the 
Cooleen  Bawn. 

The  squire  on  that  day  experienced  strange  alterations  of 
feeling.  His  spirits  seemed  to  rise  and  sink,  as  the  quick- 
silver in  the  glass  effected  by  the  state  of  the  atmosphere. 
He  looked  into  the  futiire  with  terror,  and  again  became, 
to  the  astonishment  of  his  guest — we  now  talk  of  their  con- 
duct after  dinner — actuated  by  some  thought  or  impulse 
that  put  him  into  high  spirits.  Whitecraft,  cool  and  cautious, 
resolved  to  let  him  have  his  way  ;  for  the  squire  was  drink- 
ing deeply,  and  the  Burgundy  was  good  and  strong, 

"Bob,  my  boy,"  said  he,  "you  don't  drink,  and  that  is 
a  bad  sign.  You  have  either  a  bad  head  of  late.,  or  a  bad 
heart,  which  is  worse.  Hang  j'ou,  sir,  why  don't  you  drink, 
I  have  seen  you  lay  lots  of  my  guests  under  the  table  wher» 
you  were  quite  cool ;  but  now,  what  are  you  at  ?  They  can't 
run  away  to-night.     Helen  doesn't  know  that  the  discoverf 


WILL  V  REILL  Y. 


279 


has  been  made.  And  now,  Bob,  you  dog,  listen  to  me,  I  say 
— would  _>-(?«  have  had  the  manliness  and  courage  to  expose 
yourself  for  tiie  sake  of  a  pretty  girl  as  he  did  ? — that  is — 
here's  a  bumper  to  Helen  !  Curse  you,  will  nothing  make  you 
drink  ?  No,  faith,  he  hadn't  seen  Helen  at  the  time  ;  it  was 
for  a  worthless  old  fellow  like  me  that  he  exposed  himself; 
but  no  matter,  you  may  be  right  ;  perhaps  it  tvas  a  plot  to 
get  acquainted  with  her.  Still,  I'm  not  sure  of  that;  but  if 
it  was,  I'll  make  him  smart." 

After  dinner  the  squire  drank  deeply — so  deeply,  indeed, 
that  Whitecraft  was  obliged  to  call  up  some  of  the  male  ser- 
vants to  carry  him  to  his  chamber  and  put  him  to  bed.  In 
this  task  Lanigan  assisted,  and  thanked  his  stars  that  he  was 
incapacitated  from  watching  the  lovers,  or  taking  any  means 
to  prevent  their  escape.  As  for  Whitecraft,  thought  he,  I 
will  soon  send  him  about  his  business.  Now,  this  gentle- 
man's suspicions  were  the  more  deeply  excited,  in  conse- 
quence of  Helen's  refusal  to  meet  him  at  either  lunch  or 
dinner,  a  refusal  which  she  gave  on  the  plea  of  indisposition. 
He  had  therefore  made  up  his  mind  to  watch  the  motions  of 
Coolecn  Bawn,  and  he  would  have  included  Reilly  in  his  sur- 
veillaiice  were  it  not  that  Lanigan  informed  him  of  what  he 
termed  the  mysterious  disappearance  of  the  under-gardener. 

"  What !  "  exclaimed  Whitecraft,  "is  he  gone  ?  " 

"  He  has  gone.  Sir  Robert,  and  left  his  week's  wages  be- 
hind him,  for  he  never  came  to  the  steward  to  ask  it.  And 
now.  Sir  Robert,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I'm  not  sorry  he's 
gone ;  he  was  a  disagreeable  old  fellow,  that  nobody  could 
mgke  either  head  or  tail  of  ;  but.  Sir  Robert,  listen — wait, 
sir,  till  I  shut  the  door — it  will  soon  be  gettin'  dusk  :  you 
know  you're  not  liked  in  the  country,  and  now  that  we — I 
mean  the  Catholics — have  the  countenance  of  government, 
I  think  that  riding  late  won't  be  for  your  health.  The  night 
air,  you  know,  isn't  wholesome  to  some  people.  I  am  merely 
givin'  you  a  hint.  Sir  Robert,  bekaise  you  are  a  friend  of  my 
masther's,  and  I  hope  for  your  own  sake  you'll  take  it.  The 
sooner  you  mount  your  horse  the  better;  and  if  j'ou  be  guided 
by  me,  jou'll  try  and  reach  your  own  house  before  the  dark- 
ness sets  in.  Who  knows  what  Reilly  may  be  plotting? 
You  know  he  doesn't  like  a  bone  in  your  honor's  skin  ;  and 
the  Reillys  are  cruel  and  desperate." 

"  But,  Lanigan,  are  you  aware  of  any  plot  or  conspiracy 
that  has  been  got  up  against  my  life  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all,  your  honor  ;  but  I  put  it  to  yourself,  sir, 
whether  yow  don't  feel  '^^"♦^  r«a  speaking  truth," 


28o  WILL  V  REILL  Y. 

"  I  certainly  know  very  well,"  replied  the  baronet,  "  that 
lam  exceedingly  unpopular  with  the  Popish  party;  but,  in 
my  conduct  towards  them,  I  only  carried  out  the  laws  that 
had  been  passed  against  them." 

"  I  know  that,  Sir  Robert,  and,  as  a  Catholic,  I  am  sorry 
that  you  and  others  were  supported  and  egged  on  by  such 
laws.  Why,  sir,  a  hangman  could  give  the  same  excuse,  be- 
cause if  he  put  a  rope  about  your  neck,  and  tied  his  cursed 
knot  nately  under  your  left  ear,  what  was  he  a  doin'  but  ful- 
fillin'  the  laws  as  you  did  t  And  now,  Sir  Robert,  who  would 
shake  hands  with  a  hangman,  unless  some  unfortunate  high- 
way robber  or  murderer,  that  gives  him  his  hand  because  he 
knows  that  he  will  never  see  his  purty  face  again.  This  dis- 
course is  all  folly,  however — you  haven't  a  minute  to  lose — 
shall  I  order  your  horse  .''  " 

"  Yes,  you  had  better,  Lanigan,"  replied  the  other,  with 
a  dogged  appearance  of  cowardice  and  revenge.  He  could 
not  forgive  Lanigan  the  illustration  that  involved  the  com- 
parison of  the  hangman ;  still  his  conscience  and  his  cow- 
ardice both  whispered  to  him  that  the  cook  was  in  the  right. 

This  night  was  an  eventful  one.  The  course  of  our  nar- 
rative brings  us  and  our  readers  to  the  house  of  Captain 
Smellpriest,  who  had  for  his  next-door  neighbor  the  stalwart 
curate  of  the  parish,  the  Rev.  Samson  Strong,  to  whom  some 
allusion  has  been  already  made  in  these  pages.  Now  the 
difference  between  Smellpriest  and  Whitecraft  was  this — 
Smellpriest  was  not  a  magistrate,  as  Whitecraft  w^as,  and  in 
his  priest  hunting  expeditions  only  acted  upon  warrants 
issued  by  some  bigoted  and  persecuting  magistrate  or  other 
who  lived  in  the  district.  But  as  his  propensity  to  hunt 
those  unfortunate  persons  was  known,  the  execution  of  the 
warrants  was  almost  in  every  instance  entrusted  to  his  hands. 
It  was  not  so  with  Sir  Robert,  who  being  himself  a  magis- 
trate, might  be  said  to  have  been  in  the  position  at  once  of 
judge  and  executioner.  At  all  events,  the  race  of  blood  was 
pretty  equal  between  them,  so  far  as  the  clergy  was  con- 
cerned ;  but  in  general  enmity  to  the  Catholic  community  at 
large,  Whitecraft  was  far  more  cruel  and  comprehensive  in 
his  vengeance.  It  is  indeed  an  observation  founded  upon 
truth  and  experience,  that  in  all  creeds,  in  proportion  to  his 
ignorance  and  bigotry,  so  is  the  violence  of  the  persecutor. 
Whitecraft,  the  self-constituted  champion  of  Protestantism, 
had  about  as  much  religion  as  Satan  himself — or  indeed  less, 
for  we  are  told  that  he   believes   an^  trembles,  while  White- 


WILLY  REILLY.  281 

craft,  on  the  contrary,  neither  believed  nor  trembled.  But  if 
he  did  not  fear  God,  he  certainly  feared  man,  and  on  the 
night  in  question  went  home  with  as  craven  a  heart — thanks 
to  Lanigan — as  ever  beat  in  a  coward's  bosom.  Smell  priest, 
however,  differed  from  Whitecraft  in  many  points  ;  he  was 
b  ave,  though  cruel,  and  addicted  to  deep  potations. 
Whitecraft,  it  is  true,  drank  more  deeply  still  than  he 
did  ;  but,  by  some  idiosyncrasy  of  stomach  or  constitution,  it 
had  no  more  effect  upon  him  than  it  had  upon  the  cask  from 
which  it  had  been  drawn,  unless,  indeed,  to  reduce  him  to 
greater  sobriety  and  sharpen  his  prejudices. 

Be  this  as  it  may,  the  Rev.  Samson  Strong  made  his  ap- 
pearance in  Smellpriest's  house  with  a  warrant,  or  something 
in  the  shape  of  one,  which  he  placed  in  the  gallant  captain's 
hands,  who  was  drunk. 

"  What's  this,  oh,  Samson  the  Strong  ?  "  said  Smellpriest, 
laughing  and  hiccoughing  both  at  the  same  time. 

"  It's  a  hunt,  my  dear  friend.  One  of  those  priests  of 
Baal  has  united  in  unholy  bands  a  Protestant  subject  with  a 
subject  of  the  harlot  of  abominations." 

"  Samson,  my  buck,"  said  Smellpriest,  "  I  hope  this 
Popish  priest  of  yours  will  not  turn  out  to  be  a  wild-goose. 
You  know  you  have  sent  me  on  many  a  wild-goose  chase  be- 
fore ;  in — in — in  fact,  you  nev — never  sent  me  upon  any 
other.  You're  a  blockhead,  oh,  divine  Samson  ;  and  that — 
that  thick  head  of  yours  would  flatten  a  cannon  ball.  But 
what  is  it  ? — an  intermarriage  between  the  two  P's — Popish 
and  Protestant  ?  " 

"My  dear,"  said  his  wife,  "joumust  be  aware  that  the 
Popishers  have  only  got  liberty  to  clatter  their  beads  in  pub- 
lic ;  but  not  to  marry  a  Popisher  to  a  Protestanter.  This  is  a 
glorious  opportunity  for  you  to  come  home  with  a  feather  in 
your  cap,  my  dear.  Has  he  far  to  go,  Mr.  Strong  ?  because 
he  never  goes  out  after  the  black  game,  as  you  call  them,  sir, 
that  I  don't  feel  as  if  I — but  1  can't  express  what  I  feel  at  his 
dear  absence." 

Now  we  have  said  that  Smellpries:  vas  drunk,  which,  in 
point  of  fact,  was  true  \  but  not  so  drunk  but  that  he  ob- 
served some  intelligent  glances  pass  between  his  wife  and  the 
broad-shouldered  curate. 

"  No,  madam,  only  about  two  miles.  Smellpriest,  you 
know  Jack  Houlaghan's  stripe  !  " 

"Yes — I  know  Jack  Houlaghan's  stripe,  in  Kilrudden." 
"Well,  when  you  get  to  the  centre  of  the  stripe,  look  a 


282  ^^LL  Y  REILL  V. 

little  to  your  right,  and — as  the  night  is  light  enough — you 
will  see  a  house — a  cottage,  rather;  to  this  cottage  bring  your 
men,  and  there  you  will  find  your  game.  I  would  not,  captain, 
under  other  circumstances,  advise  you  to  recruit  your  spirits 
with  an  additional  glass  or  two  of  liquor  ;  but  as  the  night  is 
cold,  I  really  do  recommend  you  to  fortify  j'ourself  with  a 
little  refreshment." 

He  was  easily  induced  to  do  so,  and  he  accordingly  took 
a  couple  of  glasses  of  punch,  and  when  about  to  mount  his 
horse,  it  was  found  that  he  could  not  do  so  without  the  as- 
sistance of  his  men  who  were  on  duty,  in  all  about  six,  every 
one  of  whom,  as  well  as  the  captain  himself,  was  well  armed. 
It  is  unnecessary  to  state  to  the  reader  that  the  pursuit  was 
a  vain  one.  They  searched  the  house  to  no  purpose  ;  neither 
priest  or  friar  was  there,  and  he,  consequently,  had  the  satis- 
faction of  performing  another  wild-goose  chase  with  his  usual 
success,  whenever  the  Rev.  Samson  Strong  sent  him  in 
pursuit.  In  the  mean  time  the  moon  went  down,  and  the 
night  became  exceedingly  dark  ;  but  the  captain's  spirits 
were  high  and  boisterous,  so  much  so  that  they  began  to  put 
themselves  forth  in  song,  the  song  in  question  being  the  once 
celebrated  satire  upon  James  the  Second  and  Tyrconnell, 
called  "  Lillibullero,"  now  "  The  Protestant  Boys."  How 
this  song  gained  so  much  popularity  it  is  difficult  to  guess, 
for  we  are  bound  to  say  that  a  more  pointless  and  stupid 
production  never  came  from  the  brain  of  man.  Be  this  as  it 
may,  we  must  leave  the  gallant  captain  and  his  gang  singing 
it  in  full  chorus,  and  request  our  readers  to  accompany  us  to 
another  locality. 

The  sheriff  had  now  recovered  from  a  dreadful  attack  of 
the  prevailing  epidemic,  and  was  able  to  resume  his  duties. 
In  the  mean  time  he  had  heard  of  the  change  which  had  taken 
place  in  the  administration  of  affairs  at  headquarters — a 
change  at  which  he  felt  no  regret,  but  rather  a  good  deal  of 
satisfaction,  as  it  relieved  him  from  the  performance  of  very 
disagreeable  and  invidious  duties,  and  the  execution  of 
many  severe  and  inhuman  laws.  He  was  now  looking  over 
and  signing  some  papers,  when  he  rang  the  bell,  and  a  ser- 
vant entered. 

"  Tom,"  said  he,  "  there  is  an  old  man,  a  poor  mendicant, 
to  call  here,  who  was  once  a  servant  in  our  family  ;  when  he 
comes  show  him  into  the  office.  I  expect  some  important 
family  information  from  him  respecting  the  property  which 
we  are  disputing  about  in  the  Court  of  Chancery." 


WILLY  REILLY. 


283 


"Very  well,  sir,"  replied  the  servant,  "  I  shall  do  so." 

This  occurred  on  the  day  of  Whitecraft's  visit  to  Squire 
Folliard,  and  it  was  on  the  evening  of  the  same  that  Smell- 
priest  was  sent  upon  the  usual  chase,  on  the  information  of 
the  Rev.  Samson  Strong  •  so  that  the  events  to  which  we  have 
alluded  occurred,  as  if  by  some  Scjcret  relation  to  each  other, 
on  the  same  day. 

At  length  our  friend  Fergus  entered  the  ofifice,  in  his  usual 
garb  of  an  aged  and  .confirmed  mendicant. 

"  Well,  Reilly,"  said  the  sheriff,  "  I  am  glad  you  have  come. 
I  could  have  taken  up  this  ruffian,  this  Red  Rapparee,  as  he 
is  properly  called,  upon  suspicion  ;  but  that  would  have 
occasioned  delay ;  and  it  is  my  object  to  lodge ^him  in  jail 
this  night,  so  as  to  give  him  no  chance  of  escape  unless  he 
breaks  prison  ;  but  in  order  to  prevent  that,  I  shall  give  strict 
injunctions,  in  consequence  of  the  danger  to  be  apprehended 
from  so  powerful  and  desperate  a  character,  that  he  be  kept 
in  strong  irons." 

"  If  it  be  within  the  strength  of  man,  sir,  to  break  prison, 
he  will  ;  he  done  it  twice  before  ;  and  he's  under  the  notion 
that  he  never  was  born  to  be  hanged  ;  some  of  the  ould 
prophecy  men,  and  Mary  Mahon,  it  seems,  told  him  so." 

"  In  the  mean  time,  Reilly,  we  shall  test  the  truth  of  such 
prophecies.  But  listen.  What  is  your  wish  that  I  should 
do  for  you,  in  addition  to  what  I  have  already  done.  You 
know  what  I  have  promised  you,  and  that  for  some  time 
past,  and  that  I  have  the  Secretary's  letter  stating  that  you 
are  free,  and  have  to  dread  neither  arrest  nor  punishment ; 
but  that  is  upon  the  condition  that  you  shall  give  all  the 
evidence  against  this  man  that  you  are  possessed  of.  In 
that  case  the  government  will  also  bountifully  reward  you 
besides." 

"The  government  need  not  think  of  any  such  thing, 
your  honor,"  replied  Reilly;  "a  penny  of  government 
money  will  never  cross  my  pocket.  It  isn't  for  any  reward 
I  come  against  this  man,  but  because  he  joined  the  blood- 
hounds of  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  against  his  own  priests  and 
his  own  religion ;  or  at  least  against  the  religion  he  pro- 
fessed, for  I  don't  think  he  ever  had  any." 

"Well,  then,  I  can  make  you  one  of  my  officers." 

"Is  it  to  go  among  the  poor  and  distressed,  sir,  and  help, 
maybe,  to  take  the  bed  from  undher  the  sick  father  or  the  sick 
mother,  and  to  leave  them  without  a  stick  undher  the  ould 
roof  or  naked  vails  ?     No,  sir  ;  sooner  than  do  that  I'd  take 


284  WILL  Y  REILL  Y. 

to  the  highway  once  more,  and  rob  like  a  man  in  the  face  of 
danger.  That  I  may  never  see  to-morrow,"  he  proceeded, 
with  vehemence,  "  but  I'd  rather  rob  ten  rich  men  than  harish 
one  poor  family.  It  was  that  work  that  druv  me  to  the 
coorse  I  left — that  an'  the  persecution  that  was  upon  us. 
Take  my  word,  sir,  that  in  nineteen  cases  out  of  twenty  it 
was  the  laws  themselves,  and  the  poverty  they  brought  upon 
the  country,  that  made  the  robbers." 

"  But  could  3'ou  not  give  evidence  against  some  others  of 
the  gang  ?  " 

"  No  sir ;  there  is  not  one  of  them  in  this  part  of  the 
kingdom,  and  I  believe  the  most  of  them  all  are  out  of  it  al- 
together. But,  even  if  they  were  not,  I,  sir,  am  not  the  man 
to  betray  them  ;  the  Red  Rapparee  would,  if  he  could  get  at 
them  ;  but,  thank  God,  I've  put  every  man  of  them  beyond 
his  reach." 

"  You  did!  and  pray,  now,  why,  may  I  ask,  did  that  hap- 
pen ? " 

"Bekaise  it  came  to  my  ears  that  it  was  his  intention  to 
inform  against  them,  and  to  surrender  them  all  to  the  gov- 
ernment." 

"  Well,  Reilly,  after  all,  I  believe  you  to  be  an  honest  fel- 
low, even  although  you  were  once  a  robber ;  but  the  ques- 
tion now  is,  what  is  to  be  done?  Are  you  sure  of  his  where- 
abouts ?  " 

"  I  think  so,  sir  ;  or,  if  I  am  not,  I  know  one  that  is.  But 
I  have  an  observation  to  make.  You  know,  sir,  I  would  a' 
gone  abroad,  a  free  man  before  this  time,  only  that  it's  neces- 
sary I  should  still  keep  on  my  disguise,  in  ordher  that  I  may 
move  about  as  I  wish  until  I  secure  this  Red  Rapparee.  After 
that,  sir,  please  God,  I'll  taste  a  mouthful  of  freedom.  In 
the  mean  time  I  know  one,  as  I  said,  that  will  enable  us  to 
make  sure  of  him," 

"  Pray,  who  is  that  ? " 

"  Tom  Steeple,  sir." 

"  Do  you  mean  the  poor  fool  of  that  name — or  rather,  I 
believe,  of  that  nickname  ?  " 

"  I  do,  sir ;  and  in  many  things  he's  less  of  a  fool  than 
wiser  men.  He  has  been  dodgin'  him  for  the  last  two  or 
three  days  ;  and  he's  a  person  that  no  one  would  ever  sus- 
pect, unless,  indeed,  the  cautious  and  practised  Rapparees  ; 
but  in  ordher  to  meet  any  such  suspicion,  I  have  got  upon 
the  right  trail  myself — we're  sure  of  him  now,  I  think." 

"  Well,  Reilly,"  proceeded  the  sheriff,  "  I  leave  the  man- 


WILLY  REILLY.  285 

agenient  of  the  capture  of  this  man  to  yourself.  You  shall 
have  a  strong  and  determined  party  to  support  you.  Do  you 
only  show  them  the  man,  and,  take  my  word  for  it,  they  will 
secure  the  robber.  After  this  affair  is  over  you  must  throw 
off  those  rags.  I  will  furnish  you  with  decent  clothes,  and 
you  can  go  out  at  large  without  fear  or  risk,  and  that  under 
your  own  name  too.  I  took  your  hint,  and  declined  swearing 
the  informations  against  him  before  the  old  squire,  as  I  had 
intended,  froin  an  apprehension  that  he  might  possibly  blab 
the  fact  to  Whitecraft,  who,  if  your  information  be  correct, 
would  have  given  him  notice  to  fly,  or  otherwise  concealed 
him  from  justice." 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  Reilly,  "  it's  my  opinion  that  the  Rap- 
paree  will  lodge  in  Sligo  jail  before  to-morrow  mornin';  and 
it's  a  thousand  pities  that  Whitecraft  shouldn't  be  sent  there 
*-o  keep  him  company." 

"  He  certainly  is  the  most  unpopular  man  living.  In  the 
exuberance  of  his  loyalty  he  has  contrived  to  offend  almost 
every  liberal  Protestant  in  the  county,  and  that  with  an  un- 
justifiable degree  of  wanton  and  overbearing  insolence,  arising 
from  his  consciousness  of  impunity.  However,  thank  God, 
his  day  is  gone  by.  But,  mark  me,  Reilly — I  had  almost  for- 
gotten— don't  neglect  to  secure  the  clothes  in  which  the  vil- 
lain robbed  me  ;  they  will  be  important." 

"  I  had  no  intention  of  forgetting  them,  sir  ;  and  that 
scheme  for  throwing  the  guilt  of  his  own  villany  on  Mr. 
Reilly  is  another  reason  why  I  appear  against  him." 

It  was  not,  indeed,  very  easy  for  the  Rapparee  to  escape. 
Whitecraft  got  home  safe,  a  little  before  dusk,  after  putting 
his  unfortunate  horse  to  more  than  his  natural  speed.  On 
his  arrival  he  ordered  wine  to  be  brought,  and  sat  down  to 
meditate  upon  the  most  feasible  plan  for  reinstating  himself 
in  the  good  graces  of  the  new  government.  After  ponder- 
ing over  many  speculations  to  that  effect,  it  occurred  to  him 
that  to  secure  the  Rapparee,  now  that  he  could,  as  an  agent 
and  a  guide,  be  of  no  further  use  to  him,  was  the  most  likely 
procedure  to  effect  his  purpose.  He  accordingly  rang  for 
his  usual  attendant,  and  asked  him  if  he  knew  where  O'Don- 
nel  was.  The  man  replied  that  he  was  generally  in  or  about 
Mary  Mahon's. 

"  Then,"  proceeded  his  master,  "  let  him  be  with  me  to- 
morrow morning  at  eleven  o'clock." 

"  If  I  see  him,  sir,  I  shall  tell  him." 

"  And  say  that  I  have  something  to  his  advantage  to  men- 
lion  to  him." 


2g6  WILL  V  REILL  K 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  I  sha'n't  forget  it." 

"  Now,"  said  he,  after  tiie  servant  had  withdrawn,  and 
taking  a  bumper  of  wine,  "  I  know  not  how  it  is,  but  I  feel 
very  uncomfortable  somehow.  I  certainly  did  not  expect  a 
change  in  the  Administration,  nor  a  relaxation  in  the  carry- 
ing out  of  the  laws  against  Papists  ;  and,  under  this  impres- 
sion, I  fear  I  have  gone  too  far,  and  that  I  may  be  brought 
over  the  coals  for  my  conduct.  I  understand  that  the  old 
French  Abbe  is  returned,  and  once  more  a  resident  in  the 
family  of  that  cursed  marquis.  I  think,  by  the  way,  I  should 
go  and  apologize  to  both  the  marquis  and  the  Abbe,  and 
throw  the  blame  of  my  own  violence  upon  the  conduct  and 
instructions  of  the  last  government  ;  that,  and  the  giving  up 
of  this  ruffianly  Rapparee  to  the  present,  may  do  something 
for  me.  This  country,  however,  now  that  matters  have  taken 
such  an  unexpected  turn,  shall  not  long  be  my  place  of  resi- 
dence. As  for  Reilly,  my  marriage  on  the  day  after  to-mor- 
row with  that  stubborn  beauty,  Helen  Folliard,  will  place  an 
impassable  barrier  between  him  and  her.  I  am  glad  he  has 
escaped,  for  he  will  not  be  in  our  way,  and  we  shall  start  for 
my  English  estates  immediately  after  the  ceremony.  To-mor- 
row, however,  I  shall  secure  the  Rapparee,  and  hand  him 
over  to  the  authorities.  I  could  have  wished  to  hang  Reilly, 
but  now  it  is  impossible  ;  still,  we  shall  start  for  England  im- 
mediately after  the  nuptial  knot  is  tied,  for  I  don't  think  I 
could  consider  myself  safe,  now  that  he  is  at  large,  and  at 
liberty  to  appear  in  his  proper  name  and  person,  especially 
after  all  the  mischief  I  have  done  him,  in  addition  to  the  fact 
of  my  bearing  away  his  Cooleen  Bawn,  as  she  is  called." 

In  fact,  the  man's  mind  was  a  turbid  chaos  of  reflections 
upon  the  past  and  the  future,  in  which  selfishness,  disap- 
pointed vengeance,  terror,  hypocritical  policy,  and  every  feel- 
ing that  could  fill  the  nnagination  of  a  man  possessed  of  a 
vacillating,  cowardly,  and  cruel  heart,  with  the  exception  only 
of  anything  that  could  border  upon  penitence  or  remorse. 
That  Miss  Folliard  was  not  indifferent  to  him  is  true  ;  but 
the  feeling  which  he  experienced  towards  her  contained  only 
two  elements — sensuality  and  avarice.  Of  love,  in  its  purest, 
highest,  and  holiest  sense,  he  was  utterly  incapable  ;  and  he 
was  not  ignorant  himself  that,  in  the  foul  attachment  which 
he  bore  her,  he  was  only  carrying  into  effect  the  principles  of 
his  previous  life — those  of  a  private  debauche  and  a  miser. 
That  amiable,  but  unhappy  and  distracted,  lady  spent  that 
whole  evening  in   making  preparations  for  her  flight  with 


WILLY  REILLY.  287 

Reilly.  Her  manner  was  wild  and  excited  \  indeed,  so  nuich 
so  that  the  presence  of  mind  and  cool  good  sense,  for  which 
her  maid  Connor  was  remarkable,  were  scarcely  sufficient  to 
guide  and  direct  her  in  this  distressing  emergency.  She 
seemed  to  be  absorbed  by  but  one  thought,  and  that  was  of 
her  father.  His  affection  for  her  enlarged  and  expanded 
itself  in  her  loving  heart,  with  a  force  and  tenderness  that 
nearly  drove  her  into  delirium.  Connor,  in  the  mean  time, 
got  all  things  ready,  she  herself  having  entrusted  the  manage- 
ment of  everything  to  her.  The  unhappy  girl  paced  to  and 
fro  her  room,  sobbing  and  weeping  bitterly,  wringing  her 
hands,  and  exclaiming  from  time  to  time: 

"  Oh,  my  father  !  my  dear  and  loving  father  !  is  this  the  re- 
turn I  am  making  you  for  your  tenderness  and  affection  ?  what 
am  I  about  to  do  ?  what  steps  am  I  going  to  take  ?  to  leave 
you  desolate,  with  no  heart  for  yours  to  repose  upon  !  Alas  I 
there  was  but  one  heart  that  you  cared  for,  and  in  the  duty 
and  affection  of  that  all  your  hopes  for  my  happiness  lay  ; 
and  now,  when  you  awake,  you  \^ill  find  that  that  heart,  the 
very  heart  on  which  you  rested,  has  deserted  you  !  When 
you  come  down  to  breakfast  in  the  morning,  and  find  that 
your  own  Helen,  your  only  one,  has  gone — oh  I  who  will  sus- 
tain, or  soothe,  or  calm  you  in  the  frenzied  grief  of  your  deso- 
lation ?  But  alas  !  what  can  I  do  but  escape  from  that  cow- 
ardly and  vindictive  villain — the  very  incarnation  of  oppression 
and  persecution  ;  the  hypocrite,  the  secret  debauche,  the  mean, 
the  dastardly,  whose  inhuman  ambition  was  based  upon  and 
nurtured  by  blood  }  Alas  !  I  have  but  one  remedy — flight 
with  my  noble-minded  lover,  whom  that  dastardly  villain  would 
have  hunted,  even  to  his  murder,  or  an  ignominious  death, 
which  would  have  been  worse.  This  flight  is  not  spontane- 
ously mine  ;  I  am  forced  to  it,  and  of  two  evils  I  will  choose 
the  least ;  surely  I  am  not  bound  to  seal  my  own  misery  fop- 
ever." 

Connor  had  by  this  time  attempted,  as  far  as  she  could,  to 
disguise  her  in  one  of  her  own  dresses  ;  but  nothing  could 
conceal  the  elegance  and  exquisite  proportion  of  her  figure, 
nor  the  ladylike  harmony  and  grace  of  her  motions.  She 
then  went  to  the  oaken  cabinet,  mentioned  by  her  father  in 
the  opening  of  our  narrative,  and  as  she  always  had  the  key 
of  that  portion  of  it  which  contained  her  own  diamonds,  and 
other  property,  she  took  a  casket  of  jewels  of  immense  value 
from  it,  and  returned  to  her  room,  where  she  found  Connor 
before  her. 


288  WILL  Y  REILL  Y. 

"  Mr.  Reilly  is  ready,  miss,"  she  said,  "  and  is  waiting  for 
you  behind  the  garden  ;  the  only  one  I  dread  in  the  house  is 
Andy  Cummiskey  ;  he  is  so  much  attached  to  the  .naster  that 
I  think  if  he  knew  you  were  about  to  escape  he  would  tell 
him." 

"  Well,  Connor,  we  must  only  avoid  him  as  well  as  we 
can  ;  but  where,  or  how,  shall  I  carry  these  jewels  ?  In  these 
slight  pockets  of  yours,  Connor,  they  could  not  be  safe." 

"  Well,  then,  can't  you  give  them  to  him  to  keep,  and 
they'll  be  safe  .?  " 

"  True,  Connor,  so  they  will ;  but  I  give  him  a  heart 
which  he  prizes  above  them  all.  But,  alas  !  my  father !  oh  ! 
how,  Connor,  shall  I  abandon  him  1 " 

"  Do  not  distress  yourself,  my  dear  Miss  Folliard  ;  your 
father  loves  you  too  much  to  hold  out  his  anger  against  you 
long.  Did  you  not  tell  me  that  if  Reilly  was  a  Protestant 
your  father  said  he  would  rather  marry  you  to  him  than  to 
Sir  Robert,  the  villain,  with  all  his  wealth  ?" 

"I  did,  Connor,  and  my  father  certainly  said  so;  but  the 
serpent,  Connor,  entwined  himself  about  the  poor  credulous 
man,  and  succeeded  in  embittering  him  against  Reilly,  who 
would  rather  go  to  the  scaffold — yes,  and — which  he  would 
consider  a  greater  sacrifice — rather  abandon  even  me  than 
his  religion.  And  do  you  think,  Connor,  that  I  do  not  love 
my  noble-minded  Reilly  the  more  deeply  for  this  ?  I  tell 
you,  Connor,  that  if  he  renounced  his  religion  upon  no  other 
principle  than  his  love  for  me,  I  should  despise  him  as  a  dis- 
honorable man,  to  whom  it  would  not  be  safe  for  me  to  en- 
trust my  happiness." 

"  Well,  well ;  but  now  it  is  time  to  start,  and  Reilly,  as  I 
said,  is  waiting  for  you  behind  the  garden." 

"  Oh,  Connor,  and  is  it  come  to  this?  my  dear  papa  !  but 
I  cannot  go  until  I  see  him ;  no,  Connor,  I  could  not ;  I  shall 
go  quietly  into  his  room,  and  take  one  look  at  him  ;  probably 
it  may  be  the  /(7st.  Oh,  my  God  !  what  am  I  about  to  do ! 
Connor,  keep  this  casket  until  I  return  ;  I  shall  not  be  long." 

She  then  went  to  his  chamber.  The  blinds  and  curtains 
of  the  windows  had  not  been  drawn,  and  it  occurred  to  her 
that  as  her  dress  was  so  different  from  any  which  her  father 
had  ever  seen  on  her,  some  suspicion  might  be  created  should 
he  observe  it.  She  therefore  left  the  candlestick  which  she 
had  brought  with  her  on  the  inside  sill  of  a  lobby  window, 
having  observed  at  the  door  that  the  moonlight  streamed  in 
through  the  windows  upon  his  bed.     Judge  of  her  consterna- 


WILLV  ktlLLY.  289 

tion,  however,  when,  on  entering  the  room,  her  father,  turn- 
ing himself  in  the  bed,  asked, 

"  Is  that  you,  Helen  ?  " 

"  It  is,  papa  ;  I  thought  you  had  been  asleep,  and  I  came 
up  to  steal  my  good-night  kiss  without  any  intention  of  awak- 
ening you." 

"  I  drank  too  much,  Helen,  with  Whitecraft,  whom  wine 
— my  Burgundy — instead  of  warming,  seems  to  turn  into  an 
icicle.  However,  he  is  a  devilish  shrewd  fellow.  Helen, 
darling,  there's  a  jug  of  water  on  the  table  there  ;  will  you 
hand  it  to  me  ;  I'm  all  in  a  flame  and  a  fever." 

She  did  so,  and  her  hand  trembled  so  much  that  she  was 
near  spilling  it.  He  took  a  long  draught,  after  which  he 
smacked  his  lips,  and  seemed  to  breathe  more  freely. 

"  Helen,"  said  he. 

"  Well,  dear  papa." 

"  Helen,  I  had  something  to  mention  to  you,  but — " 

"  Don't  disturb  yourself  to-night,  papa  ;  you  are  some- 
what feverish,"  she  added,  feeling  his  pulse  ;  "  if  you  will 
excuse,  me,  papa,  I  think  you  drank  too  much  ;  your  pulse  is 
very  quick  ;  if  you  could  fall  into  rest  again  it  would  be  better 
for  you." 

"  Yes,  it  would  ;  but  my  mind  is  uneasy  and  sorrowful. 
Helen,  I  thought  you  loved  me,  my  darling." 

"  Oh,  could  you  doubt  it,  papa  ?  You  see  I  am  come  as 
usual — no,  not  as  usual,  either — to  kiss  you  ;  I  will  place 
my  cheek  against  yours,  as  I  used  to  do,  dear  papa,  and  you 
will  allow  me  to  weep — to  weep — and  to  say  that  never 
father  deserted  the  love  of  a  daughter  as  you  have  deserved 
mine  ;  and  never  did  daughter  love  an  affectionate  and  in- 
dulgent father  more  tenderly  than  your  Cooleen  Bau>n  does 
you." 

"  I  know  it,  Helen,  I  know  it ;  your  whole  life  has  been 
a  proof  of  it,  and  will  be  a  proof  of  it  ;  I  know  you  have 
no  other  object  in  this  world  than  to  make  papa  happy  ;  I 
know  I  feel  that  you  are  great-minded  enough  to  sacrifice 
everything  to  that." 

"  Well,  but,  papa,"  she  continued,  "  for  all  my  former 
ofifences  against  you  will  you  pity  and  forgive  me  ?'' 

"  I  do  both,  you  foolish  darling  ;  but  what  makes  you 
speak  so  ? " 

"  Because  I  feel  melancholy  to-night,  papa ;  and  now, 
papa,  if  ever  I  should  do  anything  wrong,  won't  you  pity  and 
forgive  your  own  Cooleen  Ba7vn  1 " 


igo 


WILLY  REILLY. 


"  Get  along,  you  gypsy — don't  be  crying.  What  could 
you  do  that  papa  vvoulcln't  forgive  you,  unless  to  run  away 
with  Reilly  ?  Don't  you  know  that  you  can  wind  me  round 
your  finger  ? " 

"  Farewell,  papa,"  she  said,  weeping  all  the  time,  for,  in 
truth,  she  found  it  impossible  to  control  herself  ;  "  farewell 
— good-night  !  and  remember  that  you  may  have  a  great  deal 
to  forgive  your  own  Cooleen  Bawn  some  of  these  days." 

On  leaving  the  bedroom,  where  she  was  hurried  by  her 
feelings  into  this  indiscreet  dialogue,  she  found  herself 
nearly  incapable  of  walking  without  support.  The  contend- 
ing affections  for  her  father  and  her  lover  had  nearly  over- 
come her.  By  the  aid  of  the  staircase  she  got  to  her  own 
room,  where  she  was  met  by  Connor,  into  whose  arms  she 
fell  almost  helpless. 

"  Ah,  Connor,"  she  said,  alluding  to  her  father,  whom 
she  could  not  trust  herself  to  name,  '•  to-morrow  morning 
what  will  become  of  him  when  he  finds  that  I  am  gone  ? 
But  I  know  his  affectionate  heart.  He  will  relent — he  will 
relent  for  the  sake  of  his  own  Cooleen  Bawn.  The  laws 
against  Catholics  are  now  relaxed,  and  I  am  glad  of  it. 
But  I  have  one  consolation,  my  dear  girl,  that  I  am  trusting 
myself  to  a  man  of  honor.  We  will  proceed  directly  to  the 
Continent — that  is,  if  no  calamitous  occurrence  should  take 
place  to  prevent  us  ;  and  there,  after  our  nuptials  shall  have 
been  duly  celebrated,  I  will  live  happy  with  Reilly — that  is, 
Connor,  as  happy  as  absence  from  my  dear  father  will  permit 
me — and  Reilly  will  live  happy,  and,  at  least,  free  from  the 
persecution  of  bad  laws,  and  such  villains  as  base  and  vin- 
dictive Whitecraft.  You,  Connor,  must  accompany  me  to  the 
back  of  the  garden,  and  see  me  off.  Take  this  purse,  Connor, 
as  some  compensation  for  your  truth  and  the  loss  of  your 
situation." 

It  was  now,  when  the  moment  of  separation  approached, 
that  Connor's  tears  began  to  flow,  far  less  at  the  generosity 
of  her  mistress  than  her  affection,  and  that  which  she  looked 
upon  as  probably  their  final  separation. 

"  Dear  Connor,"  said  her  mistress,  "  I  would  expect  that 
support  to  my  breaking  heart  which  I  have  hitherto  expe- 
rienced from  you.  Be  firm  now^  for  you  see  /  am  not  firm, 
and  your  tears  only  render  me  less  adequate  to  encounter  the 
unknown  vicissitudes  which  lie  before  me." 

"  Well,  then,  I  will  be  firm,  my  dear  mistress  ;  and  I  tell 
you  that  if  there  is  a  God  in  heaven  that  rewards  virtue  and 


WILLY  REILLY. 


291 


goodness  like  yours,  you  will  be  happy  yet.  Come,  now,  he 
is  waiting  for  you,  and  the  less  time  we  lose  the  better.  We 
shall  go  out  by  the  back  way — it  is  the  safest." 

They  accordingly  did  so,  and  had  nearly  reached  the  back 
wall  of  the  garden  when  they  met  Malcomson  and  Cummis- 
key,  on  their  way  into  the  kitchen,  in  order  to  have  a  mug  of 
strong  ale  together.  The  two  men,  on  seeing  the  females 
approach,  withdrew  to  the  shelter  of  a  clump  of  trees,  but  not 
until  they  were  known  by  Connor, 

"  Come,  my  dear  mistress,"  she  whispered,  "  there  is  not 
one  second  of  time  to  be  lost.  Cummiskey,  who  is  a  Cath- 
olic, might  overlook  our  being  here  at  this  hour  ;  because, 
although  he  is  rather  in  the  light  of  a  friend  than  a  servant 
to  your  father,  still  he  is  a  friend  to  Reilly^as  well ;  but  as  for 
that  ugly  Scotchman,  that  is  nothing  but  bone  and  skin,  I 
would  place  no  dependence  whatever  upon  him." 

We  will  not  describe  the  meeting  between  Reilly  and  the 
Cooken  Bawn.  They  had  no  time  to  lose  in  the  tender  ex- 
pressions of  their  feelings.  Each  shook  hands  with,  and  bid 
farewell  to,  poor  affectionate  Connor,  who  was  now  drowned 
in  tears  •  and  thus  they  set  off,  with  a  view  of  leaving  the 
kingdom,  and  getting  themselves  legally  married  in  Holland, 
where  they  intended  to  reside. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE  RAPPAREE  SECURED — REILLY  AND  THE  COOLEEN  BAWN 
ESCAPE,  AND  ARE  CAPTURED. 

Cummiskey  had  a  private  and  comfortable  room  of  his 
own,  to  which  he  and  the  cannie  Scotchman  proceeded,  after 
having  ordered  from  the  butler  a  tankard  of  strong  ale. 
There  was  a  cheerful  fire  in  the  grate,  and  when  the  tankard 
and  glasses  were  placed  upon  the  table  the  Scotchman 
observed  : 

"  De'il  be  frae  my  saul,  maisther  Cummiskey,  but  ye're 
vara  comfortable  here." 

"  Why,  in  troth,  I  can't  complain,  Mr.  Malcomson  ;  here's 
your  health,  sir,  and  after  that  we  must  djink  another." 

"  Mony  thanks,  Andrew." 

"  Hang  it,  I'm  not  Andrew  ;  that  sounds  like  Scotch  ; 
I'm  Andy,  man  alive." 


202  WILL  V  REILL  K 

"  Weel,  mony  thanks,  Andy ;  but  for  the  maitter  o'  that, 
what  the  de'il  waur  wad  it  be  gin  it  were  Scotch  ?  " 

"  Bekaise  I  wouldn't  like  to  be  considered  a  Scotchman, 
somehow." 

"  Weel,  Andrew — Andy — I  do  just  suppose  as  muckle  ; 
gin  ye  war  considered  Scotch,  muckle  more  might  be  ex- 
pecket  frae  you  than,  being  an  Irisher  as  you  are,  you  could 
be  prepared  to  answer  to  ;  whereas — " 

"  \Vhy,  hang  it,  man  alive,  we  can  give  three  answers  for 
your  one." 

"  Weel,  but  how  is  that  now,  Andy  ?  Here's  to  ye  in  the 
mean  time  ;  and  'am  no  sayin'  but  this  yill  is  just  richt  gude 
drink ;  it  warms  the  pit  o'  the  stamach,  man." 

"  You  mane  by  that  the  pit  o'  the  j-/^wach,  I  suppose." 

"  Ay,  just  that." 

"  Troth,  Mr.  Malcomson,  you  Scotchers  bring  everything 
to  the  pit  o'  the  stomach — no,  begad,  I  ax  your  pardon,  for 
although  you  take  care  of  the  pratie  bag,  you  don't  forget 
the  pocket." 

"  And  what  for  no,  Andy  ?  why  the  de'il  war  pockets 
made,  gin  they  warna  to  be  filled  ?  but  how  hae  ye  Irishers 
three  answers  for  our  ane  ?  " 

"  Why,  first  with  our  tongue  ;  and  even  with  that  we 
bate  ye — flog  you  hollow.  You  Scotchmen  take  so  much 
time  in  givin'  an  answer  that  an  Irishman  could  say  his  pat- 
therin  aves  before  you  spake.  You  think  first  and  spake 
aftherwards,  and  come  out  in  sich  a  way  that  one  would  sup- 
pose you  say  grace  for  every  word  you  do  spake  ;  but  it  isn't 
'  for  what  we  are  to  receive  '  j'ou  ought  to  say  '  may  the 
Lord  make  us  thankful,'  but  for  what  we  are  to  lose — that 
is,  your  Scotch  nonsense ;  and,  in  troth,  we  ought  to  be 
thankful  for  losin'  it." 

"  Weel,  man,  here's  to  j^e,  Andy — ou,  man,  but  this  yill  is 
extraordinar'  gude." 

"  Why,"  replied  Andy,  who,  by  the  way,  seldom  went 
sober  to  bed,  and  who  was  even  now  nearly  three  sheets  in 
the  wind,  "  it  is,  Mr.  Malcomson,  the  right  stuff.  But,  as  I 
was  saying',  you  Scotchmen  think  first  and  spake  afther — ■ 
one  of  the  most  unlucky  practices  that  ever  anybody  had. 
Now,  don't  you  see  the  advantage  that  the  Irishman  has 
over  you  ;  he  spakes  first  and  thinks  aftherwards,  and  then, 
you  know,  it  gives  him  plenty  of  time  to  think — here's  God 
bless  us  all,  anyhow — but  that's  the  way  an  Irishman  bates 
a  Scotchman  in  givin'  an  answer ;  for  if  he  fails  by  word  o' 


WILL  Y  REILL  Y. 


293 


mouth,  why,  whatever  he's  deficient  in  he  makes  up  by  the 
fist  or  cudgel ;  and  there's  our  three  Irish  answers  for  one 
Scotch." 

"  Wee),  man,  a'  richt — a'  richt — we  winna  quarrel  aboot 
it ;  but  I  thocht  ye  promised  to  gie  us  another  toast — de'il 
be  frae  my  saul,  man,  but  I'll  drink  as  mony  as  you  like  wi- 
siccan  liquor  as  this." 

"  Ay,  troth,  I  did  say  so,  and  devil  a  thing  but  your 
Scotch  nonsense  put  it  out  o'  my  head.  And  now,  Mr. 
Malcomson,  let  me  advise  you,  as  a  friend,  never  to  attempt 
to  have  the  whole  conversation  to  yourself  ;  it  isn't  daicent." 

■'  Weel,  but  the  toast,  man  ? " 

"  Oh,  ay  ;  troth,  your  nonsense  would  put  anything  out  of 
a  man's  head.     Well,  you  see  this  comfortable  room  } " 

"  Ou,  ay  ;  an  vara  comfortable  it  is  ;  ma  faith,  I  wuss  I 
had  ane  like  it.  The  auld  squire,  however,  talks  o'  buildin'  a 
new  gerden-hoose." 

"  Well,  then,  fill  your  bumper.  Here's  to  her  that  got  me 
this  room,  and  had  it  furnished  as  you  see,  in  order  that  I 
might  be  at  my  aise  in  it  for  the  remaindlier  o'  my  life — I 
mane  the  Cooleen  Bawn — the  Lily  of  the  Mains  of  Boyle. 
Come,  now,  off  with  it ;  and  if  you  take  it  from  your  lanthern 
jaws  till  it's  finished,  divil  a  wet  lip  ever  I'll  give  you." 

The  Scotchman  was  not  indisposed  to  honor  the  toast ; 
first,  because  the  ale  was  both  strong  and  mellow,  and  sec- 
ondly, because  the  Cooleen  Bawn  was  a  great  favorite  of  his, 
in  consequence  of  the  deference  she  paid  to  him  as  a  bot- 
anist. 

"  Eh,  sirs,"  he  exclaimed,  after  finishing  his  bumper,  "but 
she's  a  bonnie  lassie  that,  and  as  gude  as  she's  bonnie — and 
de'il  a  higher  compliment  she  could  get,  I  think.  But,  Andy, 
man,  don't  they  talk  some  clash  and  havers  anent  her  predi- 
lection for  that  weel-farrant  callan,  Reilly  ?  " 

"  Ah,  my  poor  girl,"  replied  Cummiskey,  shaking  his 
head  sorrowfully  ;  "  I  pity  her  there  ;  but  the  thing's  impos- 
sible— they  can't  be  married — the  law  is  against  them." 

"  Weel,  Andy,  they  must  e'en  thole  it  ;  but  'am  thinkin' 
they'll  just  break  bounds  at  last,  an'  tak'  the  Ifw,  as  you  Irish 
do,  into  their  ain  hands." 

"What  do  you  mane  by  that?"  asked  Andy,  whose  tem- 
per began  to  get  warm  by  the  observation. 

"  Eh,  man,"  replied  the  Scotchman,  "  dinna  let  your 
birses  rise  at  that  gate.  Noo,  there's  the  filbert  trees,  ma 
friend,  of  whilk  ane  is  male  and  the  tither  female  ;  and  the 


294 


WILLY  REILLY. 


upshot  e'en  is,  Andy,  that  de'il  a  pickle  o'  fruit  ever  the  female 
produces  until  there's  a  braw  halesome  male  tree  planted 
in  the  same  gerden.  But,  u,  man,  Andy,  was  nay  on  she 
and  thatbonnie  jaud,  Connor,  that  we  met  the  noo  ?  De'il  be 
frae  my  saul,  but  I  jalouse  she's  aff  wi'  him  this  vara  nicht." 

"  Oh,  dear,  no  !  "  replied  Cummiskey,  starting  ;  "  that 
would  kill  her  father ;  and  yet  there  must  be  something  in  it, 
or  what  would  bring  them  there  at  such  an  hour  ?  He  and 
she  may  love  one  another  as  much  as  they  like,  but  /  must 
think  of  my  masther." 

"  In  that  case,  then,  our  best  plan  is  to  gie  the  alarm." 

"  Hould,"  replied  Andy;  "let  us  be  cautious.  They 
wouldn't  go  on  foot,  I  think  ;  and  before  we  rise  a  ruction  in 
the  house,  let  us  find  out  whether  she  has  made  off  or  not. 
Sit  yon  here,  and  I'll  try  to  see  Connor,  her  maid." 

"  Ah,  but,  Andy,  man,  it's  no  just  that  pleasant  to  sit 
here  drj'-lipped ;  the  tankard's  oot,  ye  ken." 

"  Divil  tankard  the  Scotch  sowl  o'  you — who  do  you  sup- 
pose could  think  of  a  tankard,  or  anything  else,  if  what  we 
suspect  has  happened  ?     It  will  kill  him." 

He  then  proceeded  to  look  for  Connor,  whom  he  met  in 
tears,  which  she  was  utterly  unable  to  conceal, 

•'Well,  Miss  Connor,"  he  asked,  "  what's  the  matther? 
You're  cryin',  I  persave." 

"  Ah,  Cummiskey,  my  mistress  is  unwell." 

"  Unwell  ! "  why  she  wasn't  unwell  a  while  ago,  when  the 
gardener  and  I  met  her  and  you  on  your  way  to  the  back  o' 
the  garden." 

"Oh,  yes,"  replied  Connor;  "I  forced  her  to  come  out, 
to  try  what  a  little  cool  air  might  do  for  her." 

"Ay,  but,  Connor,  did  you  force  her  to  come  in  again.!"' 

"  Force !  there  was  no  force  necessary,  Cummiskey. 
She's  now  in  her  room,  quite  ill." 

"  Oh,  then,  if  she's  quite  ill,  it's  right  that  her  father 
should  know  it,  in  ordher  that  a  docther  may  be  sent  for." 

"  Ah,  but  she's  now  asleep,  Cummiskey — that  sleep  may 
set  her  to  rights  ;  she  may  waken  quite  recovered  ;  but  you 
know  it  might«be  dangerous  t^  disturb  her." 

"  Ay,  I  believe  you,"  he  replied,  dissembling  ;  for  he  saw 
at  once,  by  Connor's  agitated  manner,  that  every  word  she  ut- 
tered was  a  lie  ;  "  the  sleep  will  be  good  for  her,  the  darlin' ; 
but  take  care  of  her,  Connor,  for  the  masther's  sake;  for 
what  would  become  of  him  if  anything  happened  her?  You 
«now  that  if  she  died  he  wouldn't  live  a  week." 


WILL  V  REILL  Y.  295 

"That's  true,  indeed,"  she  repHed.;  "and  if  she  get's 
worse,  Cummiskey,  I'll  let  the  master  know." 

"  That's  a  good  girl  ;  ma  gragal  that  you  war — good-by, 
acushla,"  and  he  immediately  returned  to  his  own  room,  after 
having  observed  that  Connor  went  down  to  the  kitchen. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Malcomson,"  said  he,  "  there  is  a  good  fire 
before  you.  I  ax  your  pardon — just  sit  in  the  light  of  it  for 
a  minute  or  so  j  I  want  this  candle." 

"  'Am  sayin',  Andy,  gin  ye  baud  away  to  the  kitchen,  it 
wadna  be  a  crime  to  send  up  anither  tankard  o'  that  yill." 

To  this  the  other  made  no  reply,  but  walked  out  of  the 
room,  and  very  deliberately  proceeded  to  that  of  Helen. 
The  door  was  open,  the  bed  unslept  upon,  the  window-cur- 
tains undrawn  ;  in  fact,  the  room  was  tenantless,  Connor  a 
liar  and  an  accomplice,  and  the  suspicions  of  himself  and 
Malcomson  well  founded.  He  then  followed  Connor  to  the 
kitchen  ;  but  she  too  had  disappeared,  or  at  least  hid  herself 
from  him.  He  then  desired  the  other  female  servants  to  as- 
certain whether  Miss  FoUiard  was  witn.n  or  not,  giving  it  as 
his  opinion  that  she  had  eloped  with  Willy  Reilly.  The 
uproar  then  commenced,  the  house  was  searched,  but  no 
Cooleen  Bawn  was  found.  Cummiskey  himself  _  remained 
comparatively  tranquil,  but  his  tranquillity  was  neither  more 
nor  less  than  an  inexpressible  sorrow  for  what  he  knew  the  af- 
fectionate old  man  must  suffer  for  the  idol  of  his  heart,  upon 
whom  he  doted  with  such  unexampled  tenderness  and  affec- 
tion. On  ascertaining  that  she  was  not  in  the  house,  he  went 
up  stairs  to  his  master's  bedroom,  having  tliC  candlestick  in 
his  hand,  and  tapped  at  the  door.  There  was  no  reply  from 
within,  and  on  his  entering  he  found  the  old  man  asleep. 
The  case,  however,  was  one  that  admitted  of  no  delay  ;  but 
he  felt  that  to  communicate  the  melancholy  tidings  was  a 
fearful  task,  and  he  scarcely  knew  in  what  words  to  shape  the 
event  which  had  occurred.  At  length  he  stirred  him  gently, 
and  the  old  man,  half  asleep,  exclaimed  ; 

"  Good-night,  Helen — good-night,  darling  !  I  am  not  well  ; 
I  had  something  to  tell  you  about  the  discovery  of — but  I  will 
let  you  know  it  to-morrow  at  breakfast.  For  your  sake  I 
shall  let  him  escape  ;  there  now,  go  to  bed,  my  love." 

"  Sir,"  said  Cummiskey,  "  I  hope  you'll  excuse  me  for 
disturbing  you." 

"  What  ?  who  ?  who's  there  ?  I  thought  it  was  my  daugh- 
ter." 

"  No,  sir,  I  wish  it  was  ;   I'm  come  to  tell  you  that  Miss 


296  ^!LL  Y  REILL  Y. 

Folliard  can't  be  found  :  we  have  searched  every  nook  and 
corner  of  the  house  to  no  purpose  :  wherever  she  is,  she's  not 
undher  this  roof.  I  came  to  tell  you  so,  and  to  bid  you  get 
up,  that  we  may  see  what's  to  be  done." 

"  What,"  he  exclaimed,  starting  up,  "  my  child  ! — my 
child — my  child  gone  !  God  of  heaven  !  God  of  heaven, 
support  me  ! — my  darling  !  my  treasure  !  my  delight! — Oh, 
Cummiskey! — but  it  can't  be — to  desert  me! — to  leave  me 
in  misery  and  sorrow,  broken-hearted,  distracted  ! — she  that 
was  the  prop  of  my  age,  that  loved  me  as  never  child  loved  a 
father  !  Begone,  Cummiskey,  it  is  not  so,  it  can't  be,  I  say : 
search  again  ;  she  is  somewhere  in  the  house  ;  you  don't 
know,  sirra,  how  she  loved  me  :  why,  it  was  only  this  night 
that,  on  taking  her  good-night  kiss,  she — ha — what?  what? 
— she  wept,  she  wept  bitterly,  and  bade  vnt  farewell  /  and 
said — Here,  Cummiskey,  assist  me  to  dress.  Oh,  I  see  it, 
Cummiskey,  I  see  it  !  she  is  gone  I  she  is  gone!  yes,  she 
bade  me  farewell ;  but  I  was  unsteady  and  unsettled  after  too 
much  drink,  and  did  not  comprehend  her  meaning." 

It  is  impossible  to  describe  the  almost  frantic  distraction 
of  that  loving  father,  who,  as  he  said,  had  no  prop  to  lean 
upon  but  his  Cooktii  Bawn,  for  he  himself  often  loved  to  call 
her  by  that  appellation. 

Cummiskey,"  he  proceeded,  "  we  will  pursue  them — we 
must  have  my  darling  back :  yes,  and  I  will  forgive  her,  for 
what  is  she  but  a  child,  Cummiskey,  not  yet  twenty.  But  in 
the  mean  time  I  will  shoot  him  dead — dead — dead — if  he  had 
a  thousand  lives  ;  and  from  this  night  out  I  shall  pursue 
Popery,  in  all  its  shapes  ana  disguises ;  I  will  imprison  it, 
transport  it,  hang  it — hang  it,  Cummiskey,  as  round  as  a 
hoop.  Ring  the  bell,  and  let  Lanigan  unload,  and  then  re- 
load my  pistols  ;  he  always  does  it ;  his  father  was  my  grand- 
father's gamekeeper,  and  he  understands  firearms.  Here, 
though,  help  me  on  with  my  boots  first,  and  then  I  will  be 
dressed  immediately.  After  giving  the  pistols  to  Lanigan, 
desire  the  grooms  and  hostlers  to  saddle  all  the  horses  in  the 
stables.  We  must  set  out  and  pursue  them.  It  is  possible 
we  may  overtake  them  yet.  I  will  not  level  a  pi.jtol  against 
my  child  ;  but,  by  the  great  Boyne  !  if  we  meet  ihem,  come 
up  with  them,  overtake  them,  his  guilty  spirit  will  stand  be- 
fore the  throne  of  judgment  this  night.  Go  now,  give  the 
pistols  to  Lanigan,  and  tell  him  to  reload  them  steadily." 

We  leave  them  now,  in  order  that  we  may  follow  the 
sheriff  and  his  party,  who  went  to  secure  the  body  of  th^ 


WILL  Y  REILL  Y.  297 

Red  Rapparee.  This  worthy  person,  not  at  all  aware  of  the 
friendly  office  which  his  patron,  Sir  Robert,  intended  to  dis- 
charge towards  him,  felt  himself  quite  safe,  and  consequently 
took  very  little  pains  to  secure  his  concealment.  Indeed,  it 
could  hardly  be  expected  that  he  should,  inasmuch  as  White- 
craft  had  led  him  to  understand,  as  we  have  said,  that  gov- 
ernment had  pardoned  him  his  social  transgressions,  as  a/tr 
contra  for  those  political  ones  which  they  still  expected  from 
him.  Such  was  his  own  view  of  the  case,  although  he  was 
not  altogether  free  from  misgiving,  and  a  certain  vague  ap- 
prehension. Be  this  as  it  may,  he  had  yet  to  learn  a  lesson 
which  his  employer  was  not  disposed  to  teach  him  by  any 
other  means  than  handing  him  over  to  the  authorities  on  the 
following  day.  How  matters  might  have  terminated  between 
him  and  the  baronet  it  is  out  of  our  power  to  detail.  The 
man. was  at  all  times  desperate  and  dreadful,  where  either 
revenge  or  anger  was  excited,  especially  as  he  labored  under 
the  superstitious  impression  that  he  was  never  to  be  hanged 
or  perish  by  a  violent  death,  a  sentiment  then  by  no  means 
uncommon  among  persons  of  his  outrageous  and  desperate 
life.  It  has  been  observed,  and  with  truth,  that  the  Irish 
Rapparees  seldom  indulged  in  the  habit  of  intoxication  or 
intemperance,  and  this  is  not  at  all  to  be  wondered  at.  The 
meshes  of  authority  were  always  spread  for  them,  and  the 
very  consciousness  of  this  fact  sharpened  their  wits,  and 
kept  them  perpetually  on  their  guard  against  the  possibility 
of  arrest.  Nor  was  this  all.  The  very  nature  of  the  law- 
less and  outrageous  life  they  led,  and  their  frequent  exposure 
to  danger,  rendered  habits  of  caution  necessary — and  those 
were  altogether  incompatible  with  habits  of  intemperance. 
Self-preservation  rendered  this  policy  necessary,  and  we 
believe  there  are  but  few  instances  on  record  of  a  Rapparee 
having  been  arrested  in  a  state  of  intoxication.  Their  laws,  in 
fact,  however  barbarous  they  were  in  other  matters,  rendered 
//^r^-ff  cases  of  drunkenness  a  cause  of  expulsion  from  the  gang. 
O'Donnel,  however,  had  now  relaxed  from  the  rigid  observ- 
ance of  his  own  rules,  principally  for  the  reasons  we  have 
already  stated — by  which  we  mean,  a  conviction  of  his  own 
impunity,  as  falsely  communicated  to  him  by  Sir  Robert 
Whitecraft.  The  sheriff  had  not  at  first  intended  to  be  per- 
sonally present  at  his  capture  ;  but  upon  second  considera- 
tion he  came  to  the  determination  of  heading  the  party  who 
were  authorized  to  secure  him.  This  resolution  of  Oxley's 
had,  as  will  presently  be  seen,  a  serious  effect  upon  the  fat§ 


298  WILL  V  REILL  Y. 

and  fortunes  of  the  Coolceii  Batvn  and  her  lover.  The  party, 
who  were  guided  by  Tom  Steeple,  did  not  go  to  Mary 
Mahon's,  but  to  a  neighboring  cottage,  which  was  inhabited 
by  a  distant  relative  of  O'Donnel.  A  quarrel  had  taken 
place  between  the  fortune-teller  and  him,  arising  from  his 
jealousy  of  Sir  Robert,  which  caused  such  an  estrangement 
as  prevented  him  for  some  time  from  visiting  her  house. 
Tom  Steeple,  however,  had  haunted  him  as  his  shadow,  with- 
out ever  coming  in  contact  with  him  personally,  and  on  this 
night  he  had  him  set  as  a  soho  man  has  a  hare  in  her  form. 
Guided,  therefore,  by  the  intelligent  idiot  and  Fergus,  the 
party  reached  the  cottage  in  which  the  Rapparee  resided. 
The  house  was  instantly  surrounded  and  the  door  knocked 
at,  for  the  party  knew  that  the  man  was  inside. 

"  Who  is  there  ?  "  asked  the  old  woman  who  kept  the 
cottage. 

"  Open  the  door  instantly,"  said  the  sheriff,  "  or  we  shall 
smash  it  in." 

"  No,  I  won't,"  she  replied ;  "  no,  I  won't,  you  bosthoon, 
whoever  you  are.  I  never  did  nothin'  agin  the  laws,  bad 
luck  to  them,  and  I  won't  open  my  door  to  any  strolling 
vagabone  like  you." 

"  Produce  the  man  we  want,"  said  the  sheriff,  "  or  we 
shall  arrest  you  for  harboring  an  outlaw  and  a  murderer. 
Your  house  is  now  surrounded  by  military,  acting  under  the 
king's  orders." 

"  Give  me  time,"  said  the  crone  ;  "  I  was  at  my  prayers 
when  you  came  to  disturb  me,  and  I'll  finish  them  before  I 
open  the  door,  if  you  were  to  burn  the  house  over  my  head, 
and  myself  in  it.  Up,"  said  she  to  the  Rapparee,  "  through 
the  roof — get  that  ould  table  undher  your  feet — the  thatch 
is  thin — slip  out  and  lie  on  the  roof  till  they  go,  and  then 
let  them  whistle  jigs  to  the  larks  if  they  like." 

The  habits  of  escape  peculiar  to  the  Rapparees  were  well 
known  to  Fergus,  who  cautioned  those  who  surrounded  the 
house  to  watch  the  roof.  It  was  well  they  did  so,  for  in  less 
time  than  we  have  taken  to  describe  it  the  body  of  the  Rap- 
paree was  seen  projecting  itself  upwards  through  the  thin 
thatch,  and  in  an  instant  several  muskets  were  levelled  at 
him,  accompanied  by  instant  orders  to  surrender  on  pain  of 
being  shot.  Under  such  circumstances  there  was  no  alterna- 
tive, and  in  a  few  minutes  he  was  handcuffed  and  a  prisoner. 
The  party  then  proceeded  along  the  road. on  which  some  of 
the  adventures  already  recorded  in  this  narrative  had  taken 


WILL  Y  REILL  Y.  299 

place,  when  they  were  met,  at  a  sharp  angle  of  it,  by  Reilly 
and  his  Cooleeii  Bawn,  both  of  whom  were  almost  instantly 
recognized  by  the  sheriff  and  his  party.  Their  arrest  was 
immediate. 

"  Mr.  Reilly,"  said  the  sheriff,  "  I  am  sorry  for  this.  You 
must  feel  aware  that  I  neither  am  nor  ever  were  disposed  to 
be  your  enemy  ;  but  I  now  find  you  carrying  away  a  Protest- 
ant heiress,  the  daughter  of  my  friend,  contrary  to  the  laws 
of  the  land,  a  fact  which  in  itself  gives  me  the  power  and 
authority  to  take  you  into  custody,  which  I  accordingly  do  in 
his  Majesty's  name.  I  owe  you  no  ill  will,  but  in  the  mean 
time  you  must  return  with  me  to  Squire  Folliard's  house. 
Miss  FoUiard,  you  must,  as  you  know  me  to  be  your  father's 
friend,  consider  that  I  feel  it  my  duty  to  restore  you  to  him." 

"I  am  not  without  means  of  defence,"  replied  Reilly, 
"  but  the  exercise  of  such  means  would  be  useless.  Two  of 
your  lives  I  might  take  ;  but  yours,  Mr.  Sheriff,  could  not  be 
one  of  them,  and  that  you  must  feel." 

"  I  feel,  Mr.  Reilly,  that  you  are  a  man  of  honor ;  and, 
in  point  of  fact,  there  is  ample  apology  for  your  conduct  in 
the  exquisite  beauty  of  the  young  lady  who  accompanies 
you  ;  but  I  must  also  feel  for  her  father,  whose  bereavement, 
occasioned  by  her  loss,  would  most  assuredly  break  his 
heart." 

Here  a  deep  panting  of  the  bosom,  accompanied  by 
violent  sobs,  was  heard  by  the  party,  and  Cooken  ^  Bawn 
whispered  to  Reilly,  in  a  voice  nearly  stifled  by  grief  and 
excitement : 

"Dear  Reilly,  I  love  you  ;  but  it  was  madness  in  us  to 
take  this  step  ;  let  me  return  to  my  father — only  let  me  see 
him  safe  ? " 

"  But  Whitecraft  ?  " 

"  Death  sooner.  Reilly,  I  am  ill,  I  am  ill ;  this  struggle 
is  too  much  for  me.  What  shall  I  do  ?  My  head  is  swim- 
ming." 

She  had  scarcely  uttered  these  words  when  her  father, 
accompanied  by  his  servants,  dashed  rapidly  up,  and  Cum- 
miskey,  the  old  huntsman,  instantly  seized  Reilly,  exclaiming, 
"  Mr.  Reilly,  we  have  you  now  ;  "  and  whilst  he  spoke,  his 
impetuous  old  master  dashed  his  horse  to  one  side,  and  dis- 
charged a  pistol  at  our  hero,  and  this  failing,  he  discharged 
another.  Thanks  to  Lanigan,  however,  they  were  both  harm- 
less, that  worthy  man  having  forgotten  to  put  in  bullets,  or 
even  as  much  powder  as  would  singe  an  ordinary  whisker. 


300 


WILL  Y  REILL  Y. 


"Forbear,  sir,"  exclaimed  the  sheriff,  addressing  Cum- 
miskey;  "unhand  Mr.  Reilly.  He  is  already  in  custody, 
and  you,  Mr.  Folliard,  may  thank  God  that  you  are  not  a 
murderer  this  night.  As  a  father,  I  grant  that  an  apology 
may  be  made  for  your  resentment,  but  not  to  the  shedding  of 
blood." 

"  Lanigan  !  villain  !  treacherous  and  deceitful  villain  !  " 
shouted  the  squire,  ''  it  was  your  perfidy  that  deprived  me  of 
my  revenge.  Begone,  you  sneaking  old  profligate,  and  never 
let  me  see  your  face  again.  You  did  not  load  my  pistols  as 
you  ought." 

"  No,  sir,"  replied  Lanigan,  "  and  I  thank  God  that  I  did 
not.  It  wasn't  my  intention  to  see  your  honor  hanged  for 
murder." 

"  Mr.  Folliard,"  observed  the  sheriff,  "you  ought  to  bless 
God  that  gave  you  a  prudent  servant,  who  had  too  much 
conscience  to  become  the  instrument  of  your  vengeance. 
Restrain  your  resentment  for  the  present,  and  leave  Mr. 
Reilly  to  the  laws  of  his  country.  We  shall  now  proceed  to 
your  house,  where,  as  a  magistrate,  you  can  commit  him  to 
prison,  and  I  will  see  the  warrant  executed  this  night.  We 
have  also  another  prisoner  of  some  celebrity,  the  Red  Rap- 
paree." 

"By  sun  and  moon,  I'll  go  bail  for  him,"  replied  the  in- 
furiated squire.  "  I  like  that  fellow  because  Reilly  does  not. 
Sir  Robert  spoke  to  me  in  his  favor.  Yes,  I  shall  go  bail 
for  him,  to  any  amount." 

"His  offence  is  not  a  bailable  one,"  said  the  cool  sheriff  ; 
"  nor,  if  the  thing  were  possible,  would  it  be  creditable  in 
you,  as  a  magistrate,  to  offer  yourself  as  bail  for  a  common 
robber,  one  of  the  most  notorious  highwaymen  of  the  day.^ 

"Well,  but  come  along,"  replied  the  squire;  "I  have 
changed  my  mind  ;  we  shall  hang  them  both  ;  Sir  Robert 
will  assist  and  support  me.  I  could  overlook  the  offence  of 
a  man  who  only  took  my  purse  ;  yes,  I  could  overlook  that, 
but  the  man  who  would  rob  me  of  my  child — of  the  solace 
and  prop  of  my  heart  and  life — of — of — of — " 

Here  the  tears  came  down  his  cheeks  so  copiously  that 
his  sobs  prevented  him  from  proceeding.  He  recovered  him- 
self, however,  for  indeed  he  was  yet  scarcely  sober  after  the 
evening's  indulgence,  and  the  two  parties  returned  to  his 
house,  where  after  having  two  or  three  glasses  of  Burgundy 
to  make  his  hand  steady,  he  prepared  himself  to  take  the 
sheriff's  informations  and  sign  unfortunate  Reilly's  committal 


WILL  Y  RETLL  Y. 


301 


to  Sligo  jail.  The  vindictive  tenacity  of  resentment  by  which 
the  heart  of  the  Ruffian  Ra]3paree  was  animated  against  that 
young  man  was  evinced,  on  this  occasion,  by  a  satanic  inge- 
nuity of  malice  that  was  completely  in  keeping  with  the 
ruffian's  character.  It  was  quite  clear  from  the  circumstances 
we  are  about  to  relate,  that  the  red  miscreant  had  intended 
to  rob  Folliard's  house  on  the  night  of  the  attack  upon  it, 
in  addition  to  the  violent  abduction  of  his  daughter.  We  must 
premise  here  that  Reilly  and  the  Rapparee  were  each  strongly 
guarded  in  different  rooms,  and  the  first  thing  the  latter  did 
was  to  get  some  one  to  inform  Mr.  Folliard  that  he  had  a 
matter  of  importance  concerning  Reilly  to  mention  to  him. 
This  was  immediately  on  their  return,  and  before  the  informa- 
tions against  Reilly  were  drawn  up.  Folliard,  who  knew  not 
what  to  think,  paused  for  some  time,  and  at  last,  taking 
the  sheriff  along  with  him,  went  to  hear  what  O'Donnel  had 
to  say. 

"Is  that  ruffian  safe!"  he  asked,  before  .  entering  the 
room  ;  "  have  you  so  secured  him  that  he  can't  be  mischiev- 
ous ? " 

"  Quite  safe,  your  honor,  and  as  harmless  as  a  lamb." 

He  and  the  sheriff  then  entered,  and  found  the  huge  sav- 
age champing  his  teeth  and  churning  with  his  jaws,  until  a 
line  of  white  froth  encircled  his  mouth,  rendering  him  a  hid- 
eous and  fearful  object  to  look  at. 

"  What  is  this  you  want  with  me,  you  misbegotten  villain," 
said  the  squire.  "  Stand  between  the  ruffian  and  me,  fellows, 
in  the  mean  time — what  is  it,  sirra  ?  " 

"  Who's  the  robber  now,  Mr.  Folliard .?"  he  asked,  with 
something,  however,  of  a  doubtful  triumph  in  his  red  glaring 
eye.  "Your  daughter  had  jewels  in  a  black  cabinet,  and  I'd 
have  secured  the  same  jewels  and  your  daughter  along  with 
them,  on  a  certain  night,  only  for  Reilly  ;  and  it  was  very 
natural  he  should  out-general  me,  which  he  did  ;  but  it  was 
only  to  get  both  for  himself.  Let  him  be  searched  at  wanst, 
and,  although  I  don't  say  he  has  them,  yet  I'd  give  a  hundred 
to  one  he  has  ;  she  would  never  carry  them  while  he  was  with 
her." 

The  old  squire,  who  would  now,  with  peculiar  pleasure, 
have  acted  in  the  capacity  of  hangman  in  Reilly's  case,  had 
that  unfortunate  young  man  been  doomed  to  undergo  the 
penalty  of  law,  and  that  no  person  in  the  shape  of  Jack  Ketch 
was  forthcoming — he,  we  say — the  squire — started  at  once  to 
the  room  where  Reilly  was  secured,  accompanied  also  by  the 


302  WILL  Y  REILL  Y. 

sheriff,  and,  after  rushing  in  with  a  countenance  inflamed  by 
passion,  shouted  out  : 

"  Seize  and  examine  that  villain  ;  he  has  robbed  me — ex- 
amine him  instantly  :  he  has  stolen  the  family  jewels." 

"  Reilly's  countenance  fell,  for  he  knew  his  fearful  position  ; 
but  that  which  weighed  heaviest  upon  his  heart  was  a  con- 
sciousness of  the  misinterpretations  which  the  world  might 
put  upon  the  motives  of  his  conduct  in  this  elopement,  im- 
puting it  to  selfishness  and  a  mercenary  spirit.  When  about 
to  be  searched,  he  said  : 

•'  You  need  not ;  I  will  not  submit  to  the  indignitv  of  such 
an  examination.  I  have  and  hold  the  jewels  for  Miss  Fol- 
liard  whose  individual  property  I  believe  they  are  ;  nay,  I 
am  certain  of  it,  because  she  told  me  so,  and  requested  me 
to  keep  them  for  her.  Let  her  be  sent  for,  and  I  shall  hand 
them  back  to  her  at  once,  but  to  no  other  person  without 
violence." 

"  But  she-is  not  in  a  condition  to  receive  them,"  replied 
the  sheriff  (which  was  a  fact)  •  "  I  pledge  my  honor  she  is  not. 

"  Well,  then,  Mr.  Sheriff,  I  place  them  in  your  hands ; 
you  can  do  with  them  as  you  wish — that  is,  either  return 
them  to  Miss  Folliard,  the  legal  owner  of  them,  or  to  her 
father." 

The  sheriff  received  the  casket  which  contained  them,  and 
immediately  handed  it  to  Mr.  Folliard,  who  put  it  in  his 
pocket,  exclaiming : 

"  Now,  Reilly,  if  we  can  hang  you  for  nothing  else,  we 
can  hang  you  for  this  \  and  we  will,  sir." 

"You,  sir,"  said  Reilly,  with  melancholy  indignation, 
"are  privileged  to  insult  me;  so,  alas!  is  every  man  now; 
but  I  can  retire  into  the  integrity  of  my  own  heart  and  find  a 
consolation  there  of  which  you  cannot  deprive  me.  My  life 
is  now  a  consideration  of  no  importance  to  myself,  since  I 
shall  die  with  a  consciousness  that  your  daughter  loved  me. 
You  do  not  hear  this  for  the  first  time,  for  that  daughter 
avowed  it  to  yourself !  and  if  I  had  been  mean  and  unprin- 
cipled enough  to  have  abandoned  my  religion,  and  that  of 
my  persecuted  forefathers,  I  might  ere  tfiis  have  been  her 
husband." 

"  Come,"  said  Folliard,  who  was  not  prepared  with  an 
answer  to  this,  "  come,"  said  he,  addressing  the  sheriff, 
"  come,  till  me  make  out  his  mittimus,  and  give  him  the  first 
shove  to  the  gallows." 

They  then  left  him. 


fV/LI.  y  REILL  Y.  303 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

SIR   ROBERT   ACCEPTS   OF    AN    INVITATION. 

The  next  morning  rumor  had,  as  they  say,  her  hands  and 
tongues  very  full  of  business.  Reilly  and  the  Red  Rapparee 
were  lodged  in  Sligo  jail  that  night,  and  the  next  morning  the 
fact  was  carried  by  the  aforesaid  rumor  far  and  wide  over  the 
whole  country.  One  of  the  first  whose  ears  it  reached  was 
the  gallant  and  virtuous  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  who  no  sooner 
heard  of  it  than  he  ordered  his  horse  and  rode  at  a  rapid 
rate  to  see  Mr.  Folliard,  in  order,  now  that  Reilly  was  out  of 
the  way,  to  propose  an  instant  marriage  with  the  Cookcn  Bawn. 
He  found  the  old  man  in  a  state  very  difficult  to  be  described, 
for  he  had  only  just  returned  to  the  drawing-room  from 
the  strongly  sentinelled  chamber  of  his  daughter.  Indigna- 
tion against  Reilly  seemed  now  nearly  lost  in  the  melancholy 
situation  of  the  wretched  Cooleen  Bawn.  He  had  just  seen  her, 
but,  somehow,  the  interview  had  saddened  and  depressed  his 
heart.  Her  position  and  the  state  of  her  feelings  would  have 
been  pitiable,  even  to  the  eye  of  a  stranger  ;  what,  then,  must 
they  not  have  been  to  a  father  who  loved  her  as  he  did  1 

"  Helen,"  said  he,  as  he  took  a  chair  in  her  room,  after 
her  guards  had  been  desired  to  withdraw  for  a  time,  "  Helen, 
are  you  aware  that  you  have  eternally  disgraced  your  own 
name,  and  that  of  your  father  and  your  family  ?  " 

Helen,  who  was  as  pale  as  death,  looked  at  him  with  vacant 
and  unrecognizing  eyes,  but  made  no  reply,  for  it  was  evident 
that  she  either  had  not  heard,  or  did  not  understand  a  word 
he  said. 

"  Helen,"  said  he,  "  did  you  hear  me  ? " 

She  looked  upon  him  with  a  long  look  of  distress  and 
misery,  but  there  was  the  vacancy  still,  and  no  recognition. 

This,  I  suppose,  thought  the  father,  is  just  the  case  with 
every  love-sick  girl  in  her  condition,  who  will  not  be  allowed 
to  have  her  own  way  ;  but  of  what  use  is  a  father  unless  he 
puts  all  this  nonsense  down,  and  substitutes  his  own  judg- 
ment for  that  of  a  silly  girl.  I  will  say  something  now  that 
will  startle  her,  and  I  will  say  nothing  but  what  I  will  bring 
about. 


J04  WILLY  RElLLli. 

"  Helen,  my  darling,"  he  said,  "  are  you  both  deaf  and 

blind,  that  you  can  neither  see  nor  hear  your  father,  and  to- 
morrow your  wedding-day  ?  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  will  be 
here  early ;  the  special  license  is  procured,  and  after  mar- 
riage you  and  he  start  for  his  English  estates  to  spend  the 
honeymoon  there,  after  which  you  both  must  return  and  live 
with  me,  for  I  need  scarcely  say,  Helen,  that  I  could  not  live 
without  you.  Now  I  think  you  ought  to  be  a  happy  girl  to 
get  a  husband  possessed  of  such  immense  property." 

She  started  and  looked  at  him  with  something  like  return- 
ing consciousness.     "  But  w^here  is  Willy  Reilly  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  The  villain  that  would  have  robbed  me  of  my  property 
and  my  daughter  is  now  safe  in  Sligo  jail." 

A  flash  of  something  like  joy — at  least  the  father  took  it  as 
such — sparkled  in  a  strange  kind  of  triumph  from  her  eyes. 

"  Ha,'"  said  she,  "  is  that  villain  safe  at  last  ?  Dear  papa, 
I  am  tired  of  all  this — this — yes,  I  am  tired  of  it,  and  it  is 
time  I  should  ;  but  you  talked  about  something  else,  did  you 
not  ?  Something  about  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  and  a  marriage. 
And  what  is  my  reply  to  that?  why,  it  is  this,  papa;  I  have 
but  one  life,  sir.  Now  begone,  and  leave  me,  or,  upon  my 
honor,  I  will  push  you  out  of  the  room.  Have  I  not  con- 
sented to  all  your  terms.  Let  Sir  Robert  come  to-morrow 
and  he  shall  call  me  his  wife  before  the  sun  reaches  his  me- 
ridian.    Now,  leave  me ;  leave  me,  I  say." 

In  this  uncertain  state  her  father  found  himself  compelled 
to  retire  to  the  drawing-room,  where  Sir  Robert  and  he  met. 

"  Mr.  Folliard,"  said  the  baronet,  "  is  this  true?" 

"  Is  what  true,  Sir  Robert  ?  "  said  he  sharply. 

"  Why,  that  Reilly  and  the  Red  Rapparee  are  both  in 
Sligo  jail?" 

•'It  zVtrue.  Sir  Robert;  and  it  must  be  a  cursed  thing  to 
be  in  jail  for  a  capital  crime." 

"  Are  you  becoming  penitent,"  asked  the  other,  "  for 
bnnging  the  laws  of  the  land  to  bear  upon  a  villain  that 
would  have  disgraced,  and  might  have  ruined,  your  only 
daughter  ?" 

The  father's  heart  was  stung  by  the  diabolical  pungency 
of  this  question. 

"  Sir  Robert,"  said  he,  "  we  will  hang  him,  if  it  was  only 
to  get  the  villain  out  of  the  way  ;  and  if  you  will  be  here  to* 
morrow  at  ten  o'clock,  the  marriage  must  take  place.  I'll 
suffer  no  further  nonsense  about  it  ;  but.  mark  me,  after  the 
honeymoon  shall  have  passed,  you  and  she  must  come  and 


WILL  V  REILL  K  305 

reside  here  ;  to  think  that  I  could  live  without  her  is  impossible. 
Be  here,  then,  at  ten  o'clock  ;  the  special  license  is  ready,  and 
I  have  asked  the  Rev.  Samson  Strong  to  perform  the  ceremony. 
A  couple  of  my  neighbor  Ashford's  daughters  will  act  as 
bridesmaids,  and  I  myself  will  give  her  away  :  the  marriage 
articles  are  drawn  up,  as  you  know,  and  there  will  be  little 
time  lost  in  signing  them  ;  and  yet,  it  is  a  pity  to — but  no 
matter — be  here  at  ten." 

Whitecraft  took  his  leave  in  high  spirits.  The  arrest  and 
imprisonment  of  Reilly  had  removed  the  great  impediment 
that  had  hitherto  lain  in  the  way  of  his  marriage  ;  but  not  so 
the  imprisonment  of  the  Red  Rapparee.  The  baronet 
regretted  that  that  public  and  notorious  malefactor  had  been 
taken  out  of  his  own  hands,  because  he  wished,  as  the  reader 
knows,  to  make  the  delivering  of  him  up  to  the  government 
one  of  the  elements  of  his  reconciliation  to  it.  Still,  as 
matters  stood,  he  felt  on  the  whole  gratified  at  what  had 
happened. 

Folliard,  after  the  baronet  had  gone,  knew  not  exactly 
how  to  dispose  of  himself.  The  truth  is,  the  man's  heart 
was  an  anomaly — a  series  of  contradictions,  in  which  one 
feeling  opposed  another  for  a  brief  space,  and  then  was 
obliged  to  make  way  for  a  new  prejudice  equally  transitory 
and  evanescent.  Whitecraft  he  never  heartily  liked  ;  for 
though  the  man  was  blunt,  he  could  look  through  a  knave, 
and  appreciate  a  man  of  honor  with  a  great  deal  of  shrewd 
accuracy.  To  be  sure,  Whitecraft  was  enormously  rich,  but 
then  he  was  penurious  and  inhospitable,  two  vices  strongly 
and  decidedly  opposed  to  the  national  feeling. 

"  Curse  the  long-legged  scoundrel,"  he  exclaimed  ;  "  if  he 
should  beget  me  a  young  breed  of  Whitecrafts  like  himself  I 
would  rather  my  daughter  were  dead  than  marry  him.  Then, 
on  the  other  hand,  Reilly  ;  hang  the  fellow,  had  he  only  re- 
cantp.d  his  nonsensical  creed,  I  could — but  then,  again,  he 
might,  after  marriage,  bring  her  over  to  the  Papists,  and  then, 
by  the  Boyne,  all  my  immense  property  would  become  Roman 
Catholic.  By  Strongbow,  he'd  teach  the  very  rivers  that  run 
through  it  to  sing  Popish  psalms  in  Latin  :  he  would.  How- 
ever, the  best  way  is  to  hang  him  out  of  the  way,  and  when 
Jack  Ketch  has  done  with  him,  so  has  Helen.  Curse  White- 
craft, at  all  events  ! " 

We  may  as  well  hint  here  that  he  had  touched  the  Bur- 
gundy to  some  purpose  ;  he  was  now  in  that  state  of  mental 
imbecility  where  reason,  baffled  and  prostrated  by  severe 
—        ao    ^~    -  -- 


^o6  WILLY  REILLY. 

mental  suffering  and  agitation,  was  incapable  of  sustaining 
him  without  having  recourse  to  the  bottle.  In  the  clue 
progress  of  the  night  he  was  helped  to  bed,  and  had  scarcely 
been  placed  and  covered  up  there  when  he  fell  fast  asleep. 

Whitecraft,  in  the  mean  time,  suspected,  of  course,  or 
rather  he  was  perfectly  aware  of  the  fact,  that  unless  by  some 
ingenious  manoeuvre,  of  which  he  could  form  no  conception, 
a  marriage  with  the  Cooleen  Bawn  would  be  a  matter  of  sur- 
passing difficulty  ;  but  he  cared  not,  provided  it  could  be 
effected  by  any  means,  whether  foul  or  fair.  The  attachment 
of  this  scoundrel  to  the  fair  and  beautiful  Cooleen  Baivn  was 
composed  of  two  of  the  worst  principles  of  the  heart — sensu- 
ality and  avarice  ;  but,  in  this  instance,  avarice  came  in  to 
support  sensuality.  What  the  licentious  passions  of  the 
debauchee  might  have  failed  to  tempt  him  to,  the  consideration 
of  her  large  fortune  accomplished.  And  such  was  the  sordid 
and  abominable  union  of  the  motives  which  spurred  him  on 
to  the  marriage. 

The  next  morning,  being  that  which  was  fixed  for  his 
wedding-day,  he  was  roused  at  an  early  hour  by  a  loud  rap- 
ping at  his  hall-door.  He  started  on  his  elbow  in  the  bed, 
and  ringing  the  bell  for  his  valet,  asked,  when  that  gentleman 
entered  his  apartment  half  dressed,  "What  was  the  matter? 
what  cursed  knocking  was  that  ?  Don't  they  know  I  can  hunt 
neither  priest  nor  Papist  now,  since  this  polite  viceroy  came 
here." 

"  I  don't  know  what  the  matter  is.  Sir  Robert;  they  are  at 
it  again  ;  shall  I  open  the  door,  sir  ?  " 

"  Certainly  ;  open  the  door  immediately." 

"  I  think  you  had  better  dress.  Sir  Robert,  and  see  what 
they  want." 

The  baronet  threw  his  long  fleshless  shanks  out  of  the 
bed,  and  began  to  get  on  his  clothes  as  fast  as  he  could. 

"  Ha  ! "  said  he,  when  he  was  nearly  dressed,  "  what  if 
this  should  be  a  government  prosecution  for  what  I  have 
undertaken  to  do  on  my  own  responsibility  during  the  last 
administration  ?  But  no,  surely  it  cannot  be  ;  they  would 
have  given  me  some  intimation  of  their  proceedings.  This 
was  due  to  my  rank  and  station  in  the  country,  and  to  my 
exertions,  a  zealous  Protestant,  to  sustain  the  existence  of 
Church  and  State.  Curse  Church  and  State  if  it  be  !  I  have 
got  myself,  perhaps,  into  a  pretty  mess  by  them." 

He  had  scarcely  uttered  the  last  words  when  Mr.  Hastings, 


WILL  Y  REILL  Y. 


307 


accompanied  by  two  or  three  officers  of  justice,  entered  his 
bedroom. 

"  Ah,  Hastings,  my  dear  friend,  what  is  the  matter  ?  Is 
there  anything  wrong,  or  can  I  be  of  any  assistance  to  you  ? 
if  so,  command  me.  But  we  are  out  of  power  now,  you  know. 
Still,  show  me  how  I  can  assist  you.  How  do  you  do .-'"  and 
as  he  spoke  he  put  his  hand  out  to  shake  hands  with  Mr. 
Hastings. 

"  No,  Sir  Robert,  I  cannot  take  your  hand,  nor  the  hand 
of  any  man  that  is  red  with  the  blood  of  murder.  This," 
said  he,  turning  to  the  officers,  "is  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft ; 
arrest  him  for  murder  and  arson." 

"Why,  bless  me,  Mr.  Hastings,  are  )'ou  mad?  Surely,  I 
did  nothing,  unless  under  the  sanction  and  by  the  instructions 
of  the  last  government  ?" 

"That  remains  to  be  seen.  Sir  Robert  ;  but,  at  all  events, 
I  cannot  enter  into  any  discussion  with  you  at  present.  I  am 
here  as  a  magistrate.  Informations  have  been  sworn  against 
you  by  several  parties,  and  you  must  now  consider  yourself 
our  prisoner  and  come  along  with  us.  There  is  a  party  of 
cavalry  below  to  escort  you  to  Sligo  jail." 

"  But  how  am  I  to  be  conveyed  there  ?  I  hope  I  will  be 
allowed  my  own  carriage  ?  " 

"  Unquestionably,''  replied  Mr.  Hastings  ;  "  I  was  about 
to  have  proposed  it  myself.  You  shall  be  treated  with  every 
respect,  sir." 

"  May  I  not  breakfast  before  I  go  ?  " 

"Certainly,  sir ;  we  wish  to  discharge  our  duty  in  the 
mildest  possible  manner." 

"Thank  you,  Hastings,  thank  you;  you  were  always  a 
good-hearted,  gentlemanly  fellow.  You  will,  of  course,  break- 
fast with  me  ;  and  these  men  must  be  attended  to." 

And  he  rang  the  bell. 

"  I  have  already  breakfasted,  Sir  Robert ;  but  even  if  I 
had  not,  it  would  not  become  me,  as  your  prosecutor,  to  do 
so  ;  but  perhaps  the  men — " 

"What,"  exclaimed  the  baronet,  interrupting  him,  "you 
my  prosecutor  !     For  what,  pray?  " 

"That  will  come  in  time,"  replied  the  other;  "and  you 
may  rest  assured  that  I  would  not  be  here  now  were  I  not 
made  aware  that  you  were  about  to  be  married  to  that  sweet 
girl  whom  you  have  persecuted  with  such  a  mean  and  un- 
manly spirit,  and  designed  to  start  with  her  for  England  this 
day." 


3o8  WILL  V  REILL  K 

Whitecraft,  now  that  he  felt  the  dreadful  consequences  of 
the  awful  position  in  which  he  was  placed,  became  the  very 
picture  of  despair  and  pusillanimity  ;  his  complexion  turned 
haggard,  his  eyes  wild,  and  his  hands  trembled  so  much  that 
he  was  not  able  to  bring  the  tea  or  bread  and  butter  to  his 
lips ;  in  fact,  such  an  impersonation  of  rank  and  unmanly 
cowardice  could  not  be  witnessed.  He  rose  up,  exclaiming, 
in  a  faint  and  hollow  voice,  that  echoed  no  other  sensation 
than  that  of  horror  : 

"  I  cannot  breakfast ;  I  can  eat  nothing.  What  a  fate  is 
this  !  on  the  very  day,  too,  which  I  thought  would  have  con- 
summated my  happiness  !     Oh,  it  is  dreadful  !  " 

His  servant  then,  by  Mr.  Hastings'  orders,  packed  up 
changes  of  linen  and  apparel  in  his  trunk,  for  he  saw  that  he 
himself  had  not  presence  of  mind  to  pay  attention  to  anything. 
In  the  course  of  a  few  minutes  the  carriage  was  ready,  and 
with  tottering  steps  he  went  down  the  stairs,  and  was  obliged 
to  be  assisted  into  it  by  two  constables,  who  took  their  places 
beside  him,  Mr.  Hastings  bowed  to  him  coldly,  but  said 
nothing  ;  the  coachman  smacked  his  whip,  and  was  about  to 
start,  when  he  turned  round  and  said  : 

"  Where  am  I  to  drive.  Sir  Robert  ?  " 

*'  To  Sligo  jail,"  replied  one  of  the  constables,  "  as  quick 
as  you  can  too." 

The  horses  got  a  lash  or  two,  and  bounded  on,  whilst  an 
escort  of  cavalry,  with  swords  drawn,  attended  the  coach 
until  it  reached  its  gloomy  destination,  where  we  will  leave  it 
for  the  present. 

The  next  morning,  as  matters  approached  to  a  crisis,  the 
unsteady  old  squire  began  to  feel  less  comfortable  in  his  mind 
than  he  could  have  expected.  To  say  truth,  he  had  often 
felt  it  rather  an  unnatural  process  to  marry  so  lovely  a  girl  to 
"such  an  ugly  stork  of  a  man  as  Whitecraft  was,  and  a 
knave  to  boot.  I  cannot  forget  how  he  took  me  in  by  the 
'  Hop-and-go-constant '  affair.  But  then  he's  a  good  Protes- 
tant— not  that  I  mean  he  has  a  single  spark  of  religion  in  his 
nondescript  carcass  ;  but  in  those  times  it's  not  canting  and 
psalm-singing  we  want,  but  good  political  Protestantism,  that 
will  enable  us  to  maintain  our  ascendency  by  other  means 
than  praying.  Curse  the  hound,  what  keeps  him  ?  Is  this  a 
day  for  him  to  be  late  on  ?  and  it  now  half  past  ten  o'clock ; 
however,  he  must  come  soon  ;  but,  upon  my  honor,  I  dread 
what  will  happen  when  he  does.  A  scene  there  will  be,  no 
doubt  of  it ;  however,  we  must  only  struggle  through  it  as  well 


WILL  Y  REILL  V. 


309 


as  we  can,  I'll  go  and  see  Helen,  and  try  to  reconcile  her  to 
this  chap,  or,  at  all  events,  to  let  her  know  at  once  that,  be 
the  consequences  what  they  may,  she  mus/  marry  him,  if  I 
were  myself  to  hold  her  at  the  altar." 

When  he  had  concluded  this  soliloquy,  Ellen  Connor, 
without  whose  society  Helen  could  now  scarcely  live,  and 
who,  on  this  account,  had  not  been  discharged  after  her 
elopement,  she,  we  say,  entered  the  room,  her  eye  resolute 
with  determination,  and  sparkling  with  a  feeling  which 
evinced  an  indignant  sense  of  his  cruelty  in  enforcing  this 
odious  match.  The  old  man  looked  at  her  with  surprise,  for 
it  was  the  first  time  she  had  ever  ventured  to  obtrude  her 
co'jv^ersation  upon  him,  or  to  speak,  unless  when  spoken  to. 

"  Well,  madam,"  said  he,  "  what  do  you  want }  Have  you 
any  message  from  your  mistress  ?  if  not,  what  brings  you 
here  ? " 

"  I  have  no  message  from  my  mistress,"  she  replied  in  a 
loud,  if  not  in  a  vehement,  voice  ;  "  I  don't  think  my  mistress 
is  capable  of  sending  a  message  ;  but  I  came  to  tell  you  that 
the  God  of  heaven  will  soon  send  you  a  message,  and  a  black 
one  too,  if  you  allow  this  cursed  marriage  to  go  on." 

"  Get  out,  you  jade — leave  the  room  ;  how  is  it  your 
affair  ?  " 

"  Because  I  have  what  you  want — a  heart  of  pity  and 
affection  in  my  breast.  Do  you  want  to  drive  your  daughter 
mad,  or  to  take  her  life  ?  " 

"  Begone,  you  impudent  hussy  ;  why  do  you  dare  to  come 
here  on  such  an  occasion,  only  to  annoy  me  ?  " 

"  I  will  «<?/  begone,"  she  replied,  with  a  glowing  cheek, 
"  unless  I  am  put  out  by  force — until  I  point  out  the  conse- 
quences of  your  selfish  tyranny  and  weakness.  I  don't  come  to 
annoy  you,  but  I  come  to  warn  you,  and  to  tell  you,  that  I  know 
your  daughter  better  than  you  do  yourself.  This  marriage 
must  not  go  on  ;  or,  if  it  does,  send  without  delay  to  a  lunatic 
asylum  for  a  keeper  for  that  only  daughter.  I  know  her  well, 
and  I  tell  you  that  that's  what  it'll  come  to." 

The  squire  had  never  been  in  the  habit  of  being  thus  ad- 
dressed by  any  of  his  servants  ;  and  the  consequence  was 
that  the  thing  was  new  to  him  ;  so  much  so  that  he  felt  not 
only  annoyed,  but  so  much  astounded,  that  he  absolutely  lost, 
for  a  brief  period,  the  use  of  his  speech.  He  looked  at 
her  with  astonishment — then  about  the  room — then  up  at  the 
ceiling,  and  at  length  spoke  : 

"  What  the  deuce  does  all  this  mean  ?  What  are  you 
driving  at  ?     Prevent  the  marriage,  you  say  ? " 


3IO 


WILL  V  REILL  Y. 


"  If  the  man,"  proceeded  Connor,  not  even  waiting  t©  give 
him  an  answer — "  if  the  man  had  but  one  good  point — one 
good  quality — one  virtue  in  his  whole  composition  to  redeem 
him  from  contempt  and  hatred — if  he  had  but  one  feature  in 
his  face  only  as  handsome  as  the  worst  you  could  find  in  the 
devil's — yes,  if  he  had  but  one  good  thought,  or  one  good 
feature  in  either  his  soul  or  body,  why — vile  as  it  would  be — 
and  barbarous  as  it  would  be — and  shameful  and  cruel  as  it 
would  be — still,  it  would  have  the  one  good  thought,  and  the 
one  good  feature  to  justify  it.  But  here,  in  this  deep  and 
wretched  villain,  there  is  nothing  but  one  mass  of  vice  and 
crime  and  deformity  ;  all  that  the  eye  can  see,  or  the  heart 
discover,  in  his  soul  or  body,  is  as  black,  odious,  and  repul- 
sive as  could  be  conceived  of  the  worst  imp  of  perdition. 
And  this  is  the  man — the  persecutor — the  miser — the  de- 
bauchee— the  hypocrite — the  murderer,  and  the  coward,  that 
you  are  going  to  join  your  good — virtuous — spotless — and 
beautiful  daughter  to  !  Oh,  shame  upon  you,  you  heartless 
old  man  ;  don't  dare  to  say,  or  pretend,  that  you  love  her  as 
a  father  ought,  when  you  would  sacrifice  her  to  so  base  and 
damnable  a  villain  as  that.  And  again,  and  what  is  more,  I 
tell  you  not  to  prosecute  Reilly;  for,  as  sure  as  the  Lord 
above  is  in  heaven,  your  daughter  is  lost,  and  you'll  not  only 
curse  Whitecraft,  but  the  day  and  hour  in  which  you  were 
born — black  and  hopeless  will  be  your  doom  if  you  do.  And 
now,  sir,  I  have  done  \  I  felt  it  to  be  my  duty  to  tell  you  this, 
and  to  warn  3'ou  against  what  I  know  will  happen  unless  you 
go  back  upon  the  steps  you  have  taken." 

She  then  curtseyed  to  him  respectfullj',  and  left  the  room 
in  a  burst  of  grief  which  seized  her  when  she  had  concluded, 

Ellen  Connor  was  a  girl  by  no  means  deficient  in  educa- 
cation — thanks  to  the  care  and  kindness  of  the  Coolcen  Bawn, 
who  had  herself  instructed  her,  'Tis  true,  she  had  in  ordi- 
nary and  familiar  conversation  a  touch  of  the  brogue  ;  but, 
when  excited,  or  holding  converse  with  respectable  persons, 
her  language  was  such  as  would  have  done  no  discredit  to 
many  persons  in  a  much  higher  rank  of  life. 

After  she  had  left  the  room,  Folliard  looked  towards  the 
door  by  which  she  had  taken  her  exit,  as  if  he  had  her  still 
in  his  vision.  He  paused — he  meditated — he  walked  about, 
and  seemed  taken  thoroughly  aback. 

"  By  earth  and  sky,"  he  exclaimed,  "  but  that's  the  most 
comical  affair  I  have  seen  yet.  Comical !  no,  not  a  touch  of 
comicality  in  it.     Zounds,  is  it  possible  that  the  jade  has 


WILLY  REILLY.  31 1 

coerced  and  beaten  me  ? — dared  to  beard  the  lion  in  his  own 
den — to  strip  him,  as  it  were,  of  his  claws,  and  to  pull  the 
very  fangs  out  of  his  jaws,  and,  after  all,  to  walk  away  in 
triumph  ?  Hang  me,  but  I  must  have  a  strong  touch  of  the 
coward  in  me  or  I  would  not  have  knuckled  as  I  did  to  the 
jade.  Yet,  hold — can  I,  or  ought  I  to  be  angry  with  her, 
when  I  know  that  this  hellish  racket  all  proceeded  from  her 
love  to  Helen.  Hang  me,  but  she's  a  precious  bit  of  goods, 
and  I'll  contrive  to  make  her  a  present,  somehow,  for  her 
courage.     Beat  me  !  by  sun  and  sky  she  did." 

He  then  proceeded  to  Helen's  chamber,  and  ordered  her 
attendants  out  of  the  room  ;  but,  on  looking  at  her,  he  felt 
surprised  to  perceive  that  her  complexion,  instead  of  being 
pale,  was  quite  flushed,  and  her  eyes  flashing  with  a  strange 
wild  light  that  he  had  never  seen  in  them  before. 

"  Helen,"  said  he,  "  what's  the  matter,  love  ?  are  you  un- 
well ?  " 

She  placed  her  two  snowy  hands  on  her  temples,  and 
pressed  them  tightly,  as  if  striving  to  compress  her  brain  and 
bring  it  within  the  influence  of  reason. 

"  I  fear  you  are  unwell,  darling,"  he  continued  ;  "  you 
look  flushed' and  feverish.  Don't,  however,  be  alarmed;  if 
you're  not  well,  I'd  see  that  knave  of  a  fellow  hanged  before 
I'd  marry  you  to  him,  and  you  in  that  state.  The  thing's  out 
of  the  question,  my  darling  Helen,  and  must  not  be  done. 
No  :  God  forbid  that  I  should  be  the  means  of  murdering  my 
only  child." 

So  much,  we  may  fairly  presume,  proceeded  from  the 
pithy  lecture  of  Ellen  Connor;  but  the  truth  was,  that  the 
undefinable  old  squire  was  the  greatest  parental  coward  in 
the  world.  In  the  absence  of  his  daughter  he  would  rant  and 
swear  and  vapor,  strike  the  ground  with  his  staff,  and  give 
other  indications  of  the  most  extraordinary  resolution,  com- 
bined with  fiery  passion,  that  seemed  alarming.  No  sooner, 
however,  did  he  go  into  her  presence,  and  contemplate  not 
only  her  wonderful  beauty,  but  her  goodness,  her  tenderness 
and  affection  for  himself,  than  the  bluster  departed  from  him, 
his  resolution  fell,  his  courage  oozed  away,  and  he  felt  that 
he  was  fairly  subdued,  under  which  circumstances  he  generally 
entered  into  a  new  treaty  of  friendship  and  aiTection  with  the 
enemy. 

Helen's  head  was  aching  dreadfully,  and  she  felt  feverish 
and  distracted.  Her  father's  words,  however,  and  the  atfec- 
tion  which  they  expressed,  went  to  her  heart ;  she  threw  her 


312  WILLY  REILLY. 

arms  about  him,  kissed  him,  and  was  relieved  by  a  copious 
flood  of  tears. 

"  Papa,"  she  said,  "you  are  both  kind  and  good  ;  surely 
you  wouldn't  kill  your  poor  Helen  ?  " 

"  Me  kill  you,  Helen  ! — oh,  no,  faith.  If  Whitecraft  were 
hanged  to-morrow  it  wouldn't  give  me  half  so  much  pain  as 
if  your  little  finger  ached." 

Just  at  this  progress  of  the  dialogue  a  smart  and  impa- 
tient knock  came  to  the  door. 

"  Who  is  that  ?  "  said  the  squire  ;  "come  in — or,  stay  till 
I  see  who  you  are."  He  then  opened  the  door  and  exclaimed, 
"What!  Lanigan  ! — why,  you  infernal  old  scoundrel!  how 
dare  you  have  the  assurance  to  look  me  in  the  face,  or  to 
come  under  my  roof  at  all,  after  what  I  said  to  you  about  the 
pistols  ? " 

"  Ay,  but  you  don't  know  the  good  news  I  have  for  you 
and  Miss  Helen." 

"  Oh,  Lanigan,  is  Reilly  safe  ? — is  he  set  at  large  ?  O,  I 
am  sure  he  must  be.  Never  was  so  noble,  so  pure,  and  so 
innocent  a  heart." 

"  Curse  him,  look  at  the  eye  of  him,"  said  her  father, 
pointing  his  cane  at  Lanigan ;  "  it's  like  the  eye  of  a 
sharp-shooter.  What  are  you  grinning  at,  you  old  scoun- 
drel ? " 

"  Didn't  you  expect  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  here  to-day  to 
marry  Miss  Folliard,  sir  .?  " 

"  I  did,  sirra,  and  I  do  ;  he'll  be  here  immediately." 

"  Devil  a  foot  he'll  come  to-day,  I  can  tell  you  ;  and  that's 
the  way  he  treats  your  daughter  !  " 

"  What  does  this  old  idiot  mean,  Helen  ?  Have  you  been 
drinking,  sirra  ? " 

"  Not  yet,  sir,  but  plaise  the  Lord  I'll  soon  be  at  it." 

"  Lanigan,"  said  Helen,  *  ivill  you  state  at  once  what  you 
have  to  say  .''  " 

"  I  will,  miss  ;  but,  first  and  foremost,  I  must  show  you 
how  to  dance  the  'Little  House  under  the  Hill,'  "  and  as  he 
spoke  he  commenced  whistling  that  celebrated  air  and 
dancing  to  it  with  considerable  alacrity  and  vigor,  making 
allowances  for  his  age. 

The  father  and  daughter  looked  at  each  other,  and  Helen, 
notwithstanding  her  broken  spirits,  could  not  avoid  smiling. 
Lanigan  continued  the  dance,  kept  wheeling  about  to  all 
parts  of  the  room,  like  an  old  madcap,  cutting,  capering,  and 
knocking  up  his  heels  against  his  ham,  wirh  a  vivacity  that 


WILLY  REILLY.  313 

was  a  perfect  mystery  to  his  two  spectators,  as  was  his 
whole  conduct. 

"  Now,  you  drunken  old  scoundrel,"  said  his  master, 
catching  him  by  the  collar  and  flourishing  the  cane  over  his 
head,  "'  if  you  don't  give  a  direct  answer  I  will  cane  you 
within  an  inch  of  your  life.  What  do  you  mean  when  you  say 
that  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  won't  come  here  to-day?  " 

"  Bekaise,  sir,  it  isn't  convanient  to  him." 

"Why  isn't  it  convenient,  you  scoundrel  ?" 

"  Bekaise,  sir,  he  took  it  into  his  head  to  try  a  change  of 
air  for  the  benefit  of  his  health  before  he  starts  upon  his 
journey  ;  and  as  he  got  a  very  friendly  invitation  to  spend 
some  time  in  Sligo  jail  he  accepted  it,  and  if  you  go  there  you 
will  find  him  before  you.  It  seems  he  started  this  morning 
in  great  state,  with  two  nice  men  belonging  to  the  law  in  thr 
carriage  with  him,  to  see  that  he  should  want  for  nothing,  and 
a  party  of  cavalry  surroundin'  his  honor's  coach,  as  if  he  was 
one  of  the  judges,  or  the  Lord  Lieutenant." 

The  figurative  style  of  his  narrative  would  unquestionably 
have  caused  him  to  catch  the  weight  of  the  cane  aforesaid 
had  not  Helen  interfered  and  saved  him  for  the  nonce. 

"Let  me  at  him,  Helen,  let  me  at  him — the  drunken  old 
rip  ;  why  does  he  dare  to  humbug  us  in  this  manner  ?" 

"Well,  then,  sir,  if  you  wish  to  hear  the  good  news,  and 
especially  you,  Miss  Folliard,  it  will  probably  relieve  your 
heart  when  I  tell  you  that  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  is,  before 
this  time,  in  the  jail  of  Sligo,  for  a  charge  of  murdher,  and  for 
burnin'  Mr.  Reilly's  house  and  premises,  which  it  now  seems 
aren't  Mr.  Reilly's  at  all — nor  ever  were — but  belong  to  Mr. 
Hastings." 

"Good  heavens  !  "  exclaimed  the  squire,  "this  is  dread- 
ful :   but  is  it  true,  sirra?" 

"Why,  sir,  if  you  go  to  his  house  you'll  find  it  so." 

"  Oh,  papa,"  said  Helen,  "  surely  they  wouldn't  hang 
him  ? " 

"  Hang  him,  Helen  ;  why,  Helen,  the  tide's  turned  ;  the\f 
want  to  make  him  an  example  for  the  outrages  that  he  and 
Others  have  committed  against  the  unfortunate  Papists. 
Hang  him  ! — as  I  live,  he  and  the  Red  Rapparee  will  both 
swing  from  the  same  gallows  ;  but  there  is  one  thing  I  say — • 
if  he  hangs  I  shall  take  care  that  that  obstinate  scoundrel, 
Reilly,  shall  also  swing  along  with  him." 

Helen  became  as  pale  as  ashes,  the  flush  had  disappeared 
from  her  countenance,  and  she  burst  again  into  tears. 


3H 


WILLY  REILLY. 


"  Oh,  papa,"  she  exclaimed,  "  spare  Reilly :  he  is  inno- 
cent." 

"I'll  hang  him,"  he  replied,  "if  it  should  cost  me  ten 
thousand  pounds.  Go  you,  sirra,  and  desire  one  of  the 
grooms  to  saddle  me  Black  Tom  ;  he  is  the  fastest  horse  in 
my  stables  ;  I  cannot  rest  till  I  ascertain  the  truth  of  this.** 

On  passing  the  drawing-room  he  looked  in,  and  found  Mr. 
Strong  and  the  two  Misses  Ashford  waiting,  the  one  to  per- 
form, and  the  others  to  attend,  at  the  ceremony. 

"  Mr.  Strong  and  ladies,"  said  he,  with  looks  of  great  dis- 
traction, "  I  fear  there  will  be  no  marriage  here  to-day.  An 
accident,  I  believe,  has  happened  to  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft 
that  will  prevent  his  being  a  party  in  the  ceremony,  for  this 
day  at  least." 

"  An  accident  !  "  exclaimed  the  ladies  and  the  clergyman. 
"  Pray,  Mr.  Folliard,  what  is  it .''    how  did  it  happen  t " 

"  I  am  just  going  to  ride  over  to  Sir  Robert's  to  learn 
evervthing  about  it,"  he  replied  ;  "  I  will  be  but  a  short  time 
absent.  But  how  !  "  he  added,  "  here's  his  butler,  and  I  will 
get  everything  from  him.  Oh,  Thomas,  is  this  you  ?  follow 
me  to  my  study,  Thomas." 

As  the  reader  already  knows  all  that  Thomas  could  tell 
him,  it  is  only  necessary  to  say  that  he  returned  to  the  draw- 
ing-room with  a  sad  and  melancholy  aspect. 

"There  is  no  use,"  said  he,  addressing  them,  "  in  con- 
cealing what  will  soon  be  known  to  the  world.  Sir  Robert 
Whitecraft  has  been  arrested,  on  a  charge  of  murder  and 
arson,  and  is  now  a  prisoner  in  the  county  jail." 

This  was  startling  intelligence  to  them  all,  especially  to 
the  parson,  who  found  that  the  hangman  was  likely  to  cut  him 
out  of  his  fees.  The  ladies  screamed,  and  said,  "  it  was  a 
shocking  thing  to  have  that  delightful  man  hanged  ;  "  and 
then  asked  if  the  bride-elect  had  heard  it. 

"  She  has  heard  it,"  replied  her  father,  "and  I  have  just 
left  her  in  tears  ;  but,  upon  my  soul,  I  don't  think  there  is 
one  of  them  shed  for  him.  Well,  Mr.  Strong,  I  believe,  after 
all,  there  is  likely  to  be  no  marriage,  but  that  is  not  your 
fault ;  you  came  here  to  do  your  duty,  and  I  think  it  only 
just — a  word  with  you  in  the  next  apartment,"  he  added,  and 
then  led  the  way  to  the  dining-room.  "  I  was  about  to  say, 
Mr.  Strong,  that  it  would  be  neither  just  nor  reasonable  to 
deprive  you  of  your  fees  ;  here  is  a  ten-pound  note,  and  it 
would  have  been  twenty  had  the  marriage  taken  place.  I 
must  go  to  Sligo  to  see  the  unfortunate  baronet,  and  try  what 


WILL  Y  RE  ILL  Y.  3 1 5 

can  be  done  for  him — that  is,  if  anything  can,  which  I  greatly 
doubt." 

The  parson  protested  against  the  receipt  of  the  ten-pound 
note  very  much  in  the  style  of  a  bashful  schoolboy,  who  pre- 
tends to  refuse  an  apple  from  a  strange  relation  when  he 
comes  to  pay  a  visit,  whilst,  at  the  same  time,  the  young 
monkey's  chops  are  watering  for  it.  With  some  faint  show 
of  reluctance  he  at  length  received  it,  and  need  we  say  that  it 
soon  disappeared  in  one  of  his  sanctified  pockets. 

"Strong,  my  dear  fellow,"  proceeded  the  squire,  "you  will 
take  a  seatwith  these  ladies  in  their  carriage  and  see  them 
home." 

"  I  would,  with  pleasure,  my  dear  friend,  but  that  I  am 
called  upon  to  console  poor  Mrs,  Smellpriest  for  the  loss  of 
the  captain." 

"  The  captain  !  why,  what  has  happened  him  ?  " 

"  Alas  !  sir,  an  unexpected  and  unhappy  fate.  He  went 
out  last  night  a  priest-hunting,  like  a  godly  sportsman  of  the 
Church,  as  he  was,  and  on  his  return  from  an  unsuccessful 
chase  fell  off  his  horse  while  in  the  act  of  singing  that  far- 
famed  melody  called  '  LillibuUero,'  and  sustained  such  severe 
injuries  that  he  died  on  that  very  night,  expressing  a  very 
ungodly  penitence  for  his  loyalty  in  persecuting  so  many 
treasonable  Popish  priests." 

The  squire  seemed  amazed,  and,  after  a  pause,  said : 

"  He  repented,  you  say  ;  upon  my  soul,  then,  I  am  glad 
to  hear  it,  for  it  is  more  than  I  expected  from  him,  and,  be- 
tween you  and  me.  Strong,  I  fear  it  must  have  taken  a  devil- 
ish large  extent  of  repentance  to  clear  him  from  the  crimes 
he  committed  against  both  priests  and  Popery." 

"  Ah,"  replied  Strong,  with  a  groan  of  deep  despondency, 
"but  unfortunately,  my  dear  sir,  he  did  not  repent  of  his 
sins — that  is  the  worst  of  it — Satan  must  have  tempted  him 
to  transfer  his  repentance  to  those  very  acts  of  his  life  upon 
which,  as  a  Christian  champion,  he  should  have  depended  foi 
justification  abovL' — I  mean,  devoting  his  great  energies  so 
zealously  to  the  extermination  of  idolatry  and  error.  What 
was  it  but  repenting  for  his  chief  virtues,  instead  of  relying, 
like  a.  brave  and  dauntless  soldier  of  our  Establishment,  upon 
his  praiseworthy  exertions  to  rid  it  of  its  insidious  and  relent- 
less enemies  ? " 

The  squire  looked  at  him. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what,  Strong — by  the  great  Boyne,  I'd  give 
a  trifle  to  see  you  get  a  smart  touch  of  persecution  in  your 


|,$  WILLY  REILLY. 

own  person  ;  it  might  teach  you  a  little  more  charity  towards 
those  who  differ  with  you  ;  but,  upon  my  honor,  if  any 
change  in  our  national  parties  should  soon  take  place,  and 
that  the  Papists  should  get  the  upper  hand,  I  tell  you  to  your 
teeth  that  if  ever  your  fat  ribs  should  be  tickled  by  the  whip 
of  persecution,  they  would  render  you  great  injustice  who 
should  do  it  for  the  sake  of  religion — a  commodity  with  which 
I  see,  from  the  spirit  of  your  present  sentiments,  you  are  not 
over-burdened.  However,  in  the  mean  time,  I  daresay  that 
whatever  portion  you  possess  of  it,  you  will  charitably  expend 
in  consoling  his  widow,  as  you  say.     Good  morning  !  " 

We  must  return,  however,  to  the  close  of  Smellpriest's 
very  sudden  and  premature  departure  from  the  scene  of  his 
cruel  and  merciless  labors.  Having  reached  the  stripe  al- 
ready described  to  him  by  Mr.  Strong,  and  to  which  he  was 
guided  by  his  men,  he  himself  having  been  too  far  advanced 
in  liquor  to  make  out  his  way  with  any  kind  of  certainty,  he 
proceeded,  still  under  their  direction,  to  the  cottage  adjoin- 
ing, which  was  inunediately  surrounded  by  the  troopers. 
After  knocking  at  the  door  with  violence,  and  demanding 
instant  admittance,  under  the  threat  of  smashing  it  in,  and 
burning  the  house  as  a  harbor  for  rebellious  priests,  the  door 
was  immediately  opened  by  a  gray-headed  old  man,  feeble 
and  decrepit  in  appearance,  but  yet  without  any  manifestation 
of  terror  either  in  his  voice  or  features.  He  held  a  candle  in 
his  hand,  and  asked  them,  in  a  calm,  composed  voice,  what 
it  was  they  wanted,  and  w+iy  they  thus  came  to  disturb  him 
and  his  family  at  such  an  unseasonable  hour, 

"Why,  you  treasonable  old  scoundrel,"  shouted  Smell- 
priest,  "haven't  you  got  a  rebel  and  recusant  Popish  priest 
in  the  house  ?  I  say,  j'ou  gray-headed  old  villain,  turn  him 
out  on  the  instant,  or,  if  you  hesitate  but  half  a  minute,  we'll 
make  a  bonfire  of  you,  him,  the  house,  and  all  that's  in  it. 
Zounds,  I  don't  see  why  I  shouldn't  burn  a  house  as  well  as 
Whitecraft.  That  cursed  baronet  is  getting  ahead  of  me,  but 
I  think  I  am  entitled  to  a  bonfire  as  well  as  he  is.  Shall  we 
burn  the  house  ? "  he  added,  addressing  his  men. 

"  I  think  you  had  better  not,  captain,"  replied  the  princi- 
pal of  them  ;  "  recollect  there  are  new  regulations  now.  It 
wouldn't  be  safe,  and  might  only  end  in  hanging  every  man 
of  us — yourself  among  the  rest." 

"But  why  doesn't  the  old  rebel  produce  the  priest?" 
asked  their  leader.  "  Come  here,  sirra — hear  me — produce 
that  lurking  priest  immediately." 


WILL  Y  REILL  V.  317 

"  I  don't  exactly  understand  you,  captain,**  replied  the 
old  man,  who  appeared  to  know  Smellpriest  right  well.  "  I 
don't  think  it's  to  my  house  you  should  come  to  look  for  a 
priest." 

"  Why  not,  you  villain  ?  I  have  been  directed  here,  and 
told  that  I  would  find  my  game  under  your  roof." 

"  In  the  first  place,"  replied  the  old  man,  with  a  firm  and 
intrepid  voice,  "  1  am  no  villain  ;  and  in  the  next,  I  say,  that 
if  any  man  directed  you  to  this  house  in  quest  of  a  priest,  he 
must  have  purposely  sent  you  upon  a  fool's  errand.  I  am  a 
Protestant,  Captain  Smellpriest ;  but,  Protestant  as  I  am,  I 
tell  you  to  your  face  that  if  I  could  give  shelter  to  a  poor  per- 
secuted priest,  and  save  him  from  the  clutches  of  such  men 
as  you  and  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  I  would  do  it.  In  the 
mean  time,  there  is  neither  priest  nor  friar  under  this  roof  ; 
you  can  come  in  and  search  the  house,  if  you  wish." 

'  Why,  gog's  ouns,  father,"  exclaimed  one  of  the  men, 
"  how  does  it  come  that  we  find  you  here  ?  " 

"  Very  simply,  John,"  replied  his  father — for  such  he  was— 
"  [  took  this  cottage,  and  the  bit  of  land  that  goes  with  it, 
from  honest  Andy  Morrow,  and  we  are  not  many  hours  in  it. 
The  house  was  empty  for  the  last  six  months,  so  that  I  say 
again,  whoever  sent  Captain  Smellpriest  here  sent  him  upon 
a  fool's  errand — upon  a  wild-goose  chase." 

The  gallant  captain  started  upon  hearing  these  latter 
words. 

"What  does  he  say,"  he  asked — "a  wild-goose  chase! 
Right — right,"  he  added,  in  a  soliloquy  ;  "  Strong  is  at  the 
bottom  of  it,  the  black  scoundrel !  but  still,  let  us  search  the 
house;  the  old  fellow  admits  that  he  wotdd  shelter  a  priest. 
Search  the  house  I  say. 

" '  There  was  an  old  prophecy  found  in  a  bog, 
Lillibullero,  bullen  ala,  &c.,   &c.'  " 

The  house  was  accordingly  searched,  but  it  is  unnecessary 
to  add  that  neither  priest  nor  friar  was  found  under  the  roof, 
nor  any  nook  or  corner  in  which  either  one  or  the  other  could 
have  been  concealed. 

The  party,  who  then  directed  their  steps  homewards,  were 
proceeding  across  the  fields  to  the  mountain  road  which  ran 
close  by,  and  parallel  with  the  stripe,  when  they  perceived  at 
once  that  Smellpriest  was  in  a  rage,  by  the  fact  of  his  singing 
"Lillibullero;"  for,  whenever  either  his  rage  or  loyalty  hap- 
pened to  run  high,  he  uniformly  made  a  point  to  indulge  him- 
self in  singing  that  celebrated  ballad. 


3i8 


iVILL  Y  kEILL  r. 


"  By  jabers,"  said  one  of  them  to  his  companions,  "there 
will  be  a  battle  royal  between  the  captain  and  Mr.  Strong  if 
he  finds  the  parson  at  home  before  him." 

"  If  there  won't  be  a  fight  with  the  parson,  there  will  with 
the  wife,"  replied  the  other.  "  Hang  the  same  parson,"  he 
added  ;  "  many  a  dreary  chase  he  has  sent  us  upon,  with 
nothing  but  the  fatigue  of  a  dark  and  slavish  journey  for  our 
pains.  With  what  bitterness  he's  giving  us  '  Lillibullero,'  and 
he  scarcely  able  to  sit  upon  his  horse  !  I  think  I'll  advance, 
and  ride  beside  him,  otherwise  he  may  get  an  ugly  tumble  on 
this  hard  road." 

He  accordingly  did  so,  observing,  as  he  got  near  him, 
"  I  have  taken  the  liberty  to  ride  close  beside  you,  lest,  as  the 
night  is  dark,  your  horse  might  stumble." 

''  What !  do  you  think  I'm  drunk,  you  scoundrel  ? — fall 
back,  sir,  immediately. 

" '  Lillibullero,  bullen  ala.' 

"  I  say  I'm  not  drunk  ;  but  I'm  in  a  terrible  passion  at  that 
treacherous  scoundrel;  but  no  matter,  I  saw  something  to- 
night— never  mind,  I  say. 

" '  There  was  an  old  prophecy  found  in  a  bog, 

Lillibullero,  bullen  ala : 
That  Ireland  should  be  ruled  by  an  Ass  and  a  Dog, 

Lillibullero,  bullen  ala. 
And  now  that  same  prophecy  has  come  to  pass — 

Lillibullero,  bullen  ala; 
For  Talbot's  the  Dog,  and  James  is  the  Ass, 

Lillibullero,  bullen  ala.' 

"  Never  mind,  I  say  ;  hang  me,  but  I'll  crop  the  villain,  or 
crop  both,  which  is  better  still — steady,  Schomberg — curse 
you." 

The  same  rut  or  chasm  across  the  more  open  road  on 
which  they  had  now  got  out,  and  that  had  nearly  been  so 
fatal  to  Mr.  Brown,  became  decidedly  so  to  unfortunate 
Smellpriest.  The  horse,  as  his  rider  spoke,  stopped  suddenly, 
and,  shying  quickly  to  the  one  side,  the  captain  was  pitched 
off,  and  fell  with  his  whole  weight  upon  the  hard  pavement. 
The  man  was  an  unwieldy,  and  consequently  a  heavy  man, 
and  the  unexpected  fall  stunned  him  into  insensibility. 
After  about  ten  minutes  or  so  he  recovered  his  conscious- 
ness, however,  and  having  been  once  more  placed  upon  his 
horse,  was  conducted  home,  two  or  three  of  his  men,  with 
much  difficulty,  enabling  him  to  maintain  his  seat  in  the 
saddle.  In  this  manner  they  reached  his  house,  where  they 
stripped  and  put  him  to  bed,  having  observed,  to  their  con- 


WILL  V  RETL  LY.  319 

sternation,  that  stTong  gushes  of  blood  welled,  every  three 
or  four  minutes,  from  his  mouth. 

The  grief  of  his  faithful  wife  was  outrageous;  and  Mr. 
Strong,  who  was  still  there  kindly  awaiting  his  safe  return, 
endeavored  to  compose  her  distraction  as  well  as  he  could. 

"  My  dear  madam,"  said  he,  "  why  will  you  thus  permit 
your  grief  to  overcome  you  ?  You  will  most  assuredly  injure 
your  own  precious  health  by  this  dangerous  outburst  of  sor- 
row. The  zealous  and  truly  loyal  captain  is  not,  I  trust, 
seriously  injured  ;  he  will  recover,  under  God,  in  a  few  days. 
You  may  rest  assured,  my  dear  Mrs.  Smellpriest,  that  his  life 
is  too  valuable  to  be  taken  at  this  unhappy  period.  No,  he 
will,  I  trust  and  hope,  be  spared  until  a  strong  anti-Popish 
government  shall  come  in,  when,  if  he  is  to  lose  it,  he  will 
lose  it  in  some  great  and  godly  exploit  against  the  harlot  of 
abominations." 

"Alas  !  my  dear  Mr.  Strong,  that  is  all  very  kind  of  you, 
to  support  my  breaking  heart  with  such  comfort;  but,  when 
he  is  gone,  what  will  become  of  me  I " 

"  You  will  not  be  left  desolate,  my  dear  madam — you  will 
be  supported — cheered — consoled.  Captain,  my  friend,  how 
do  you  feel  now  ?     Are  you  easier  ?  " 

"I  am,"  replied  the  captain  feebly — for  he  had  not  lost 
his  speech — "come  near  me.  Strong." 

"  With  pleasure,  dear  captain,  as  becomes  my  duty,  not 
only  as  a  friend,  but  as  an  humble  and  unworthy  minister  of 
religion.  I  trust  you  are  not  in  danger,  but,  under  any  cir- 
cumstances, it  is  best,  you  know,  to  be  prepared  for  the 
worst.  Do  not  then  be  cast  down,  nor  allow  your  heart  to 
sink  into' despair.  Remember  that  you  have  acted  the  part 
of  a  zealous  and  faithful  champion  on  behalf  of  our  holy 
Church,  and  that  you  have  been  a  blessed  scourge  of  Popery 
in  this  Pope-ridden  country.  Let  that  reflection,  then,  be 
your  consolation.  Think  of  the  many  priests  you  have 
hunted — and  hunted  successfully  too  ;  think  of  how  many 
bitter  Papists  of  every  class  you  have  been  the  blessed  means 
of  committing  to  the  justice  of  our  laws  ;  think  of  the  num- 
bers of  Popish  priests  and  bishops  you  have,  in  the  faithful 
discharge  of  your  pious  duty,  committed  to  chains,  imprison- 
ment, transportation,  and  the  scaffold — think  of  all  these 
things,  I  say,  and  take  comfort  to  your  soul  by  the  retrospect. 
Would  you  wish  to  receive  the  rites  and  consolations  of  re- 
ligion at  my  hands  ?" 

**  Come  near  me,  Strong,"  repeated  Smellpriest.      "  The 


320 


iVILLY  REILLY. 


rites  of  my  religion  ixoxn  you — the  rights  of  perdition  as  soon, 
you  hypocritical  scoundrel  ; "  and  as  he  spoke  he  caught  a 
gush  of  blood  as  it  issued  from  his  mouth  and  flung  it  with 
all  the  strength  he  had  left  right  into  the  clergyman's  face. 
"  Take  that,  you  villain,"  he  added  ;  "  I  die  in  every  sense 
with  my  blood  upon  you.  And  as  for  my  hunting  of  priests 
and  Papists,  it  is  the  only  thing  that  lies  at  this  moment 
heavy  over  my  heart.  And  as  for  that  wpfe  of  mine,  I'm 
sorry  she's  not  in  my  place.  I  know,  of  course,  I'll  be  damned  ; 
but  it  can't  be  helped  now.  If  I  go  down,  as  down  I  will 
go,  won't  I  have  plenty  of  friends  to  keep  me  in  counte- 
nance. I  know — I  feel  I'm  dying ;  but  I  must  take  the 
consequences.  In  the  mean  time,  my  best  word  and  wish  is, 
that  that  vile  jade  shan't  be  permitted  to  approach  or  touch 
my  body  after  I  am  dead.  My  curse  upon  you  both  !  for  you 
brought  me  to  this  untimely  death  between  you." 

"  Why,  my  dear  Smellpriest — "  exclaimed  the  wife. 

"  Don't  call  me  Smellpriest,"  he  replied,  interrupting  her; 
"  my  name  is  Norbury.  But  it  doesn't  matter — it's  all  up  with 
me,  and  I  know  it  will  soon  be  all  down  with  me  ;  for  down, 
down  I'll  go.  Strong,  you  hypocritical  scoundrel,  don't  be  a 
persecutor ;  look  at  me  on  the  very  brink  of  perdition  for  it. 
And  now  the  only  comfort  I  have  is,  that  I  let  the  poor  Popish 
bishop  off.  I  could  not  shoot  him,  or  at  any  rate  make  a 
prisoner  of  him,  and  he  engaged  in  the  worship  of  God." 

"  Alas  !  "  whispered  Strong,  "  the  poor  man  is  verging  on 
rank  Popery — he  is  hopeless." 

"  But,  Tom,  dear,"  said  the  wife,  "  why  are  you  displeased 
with  me,  your  own  faithful  partner  ?  I  that  was  so  loving  and 
affectionate  to  you  ?  I  that  urged  you  on  in  the  path  of  duty  ? 
I  that  scoured  your  arms  and  regimentals  with  my  own  hands 
— that  mixed  you  your  punch  before  you  went  afther  the  black 
game,  as  you  used  to  say,  and,  again,  had  it  ready  for  you  when 
you  returned  to  precious  Mr.  Strong  and  me  after  a  long  hunt. 
Dont  die  in  anger  with  your  own  Grizzy,  as  you  used  to  call 
me,  my  dear  Tom,  or,  if  you  do,  I  feel  that  I  won't  long  sur- 
vive you." 

"  Ah  !  you  jade,"  replied  Tom,  "didn't  I  see  the  wink  bet- 
ween you  to-night,  although  you  thought  I  was  drunk  ?  Ah, 
these  wild-goose  chases  ! " 

"  Tom,  dear,  we  are  both  innocent.  Oh,  forgive  your  own 
Grizzy  !  " 

"  So  I  do,  you  jade — my  curse  on  you  both." 

Whether  it  was  the  effort  necessary  to  speak,  in  addition 


*  WILLY  REILLY.  321 

to  the  excitement  occasioned  by  his  suspicions,  and  whether 
these  suspicions  were  well  founded  or  not,  we  do  not  presume 
to  say  ;  but  the  fact  was,  that,  after  another  outgulp  of  blood 
had  come  up,  he  drew  a  long,  deep  sigh,  his  under-jaw  fell, 
and  the  wretched,  half-penitent  Captain  Smellpriest  breathed 
his  last.  After  which  his  wife,  whether  from  sorrow  or  remorse, 
became  insensible,  and  remained  in  that  state  for  a  considerable 
time  ;  but  at  length  she  recovered,  and,  after  expressing  the 
most  violent  sorrow,  literally  drove  the  Rev.  Mr.  Strong  out 
of  the  house,  with  many  deep  and  bitter  curses.  But  to  return  : 
In  a  few  minutes  the  parties  dispersed,  and  Folliard,  too 
much  absorbed  in  the  fates  of  Reilly  and  Whitecraft,  pre- 
pared to  ride  to  Sligo,  to  ascertain  if  anything  could  be  done 
for  the  baronet.  In  the  mean  time,  while  he  and  his  old  friend 
Cummiskey  are  on  their  wav  to  see  that  gentleman,  we  will 
ask  the  attention  of  our  read  rs  to  the  state  of  Helen's  mind, 
as  it  was  affected  by  the  distressing  events  which  had  so 
rapidly  and  recently  occurred.  We  need  not  assure  them 
that  deep  anxiety  for  the  fate  of  her  unfortunate^  lover  lay 
upon  her  heart  like  the  gloom  of  death  itself.  His  image  and 
his  natural  nobility  of  character,  but,  above  all,  the  purity  and 
delicacy  of  his  love  for  herself  ;  his  manly  and  faithful  attach- 
ment to  his  religion,  under  temptations  which  few  hearts  could 
resist — temptations  of  which  she  herself  was,  beyond  all 
comparison,  the  most  trying  and  the  most  difficult  to  be  with- 
stood ;  his  refusal  to  leave  the  country  on  her  account,  even 
when  the  bloodhounds  of  the  law  were  pursuing  him  to  his 
death  in  every  direction  ;  and  the  reflection  that  this  resolution 
of  abiding  by  her,  and  watching  over  her  welfare  and^hap- 
piness,  and  guarding  her,  as  far  as  he  could,  from  domestic 
persecution — all  these  reflections,  in  short,  crowded  upon  her 
mind  with  such  fearful  force  that  her  reason  began  to  totter, 
and  she  felt  apprehensive  that  she  might  not  be  able  to  bear 
the  trial  which  Reilly's  position  now  placed  before  her  in  the 
most  hideous  colors.  On  the  other  hand,  there  was  White- 
craft,  a  man  certainly  who  had  committed  many  crimes  and 
murders  and  burnings,  often,  but  not  always,  upon  his  own 
responsibility  ;  a  man  who,  she  knew,  entertained  no  manly 
or  tender  affection  for  her  ;  he  too  about  to  meet  a  violent 
death  1  That  she  detested  him  with  an  abhorrence  as  deep 
as  ever  woman  entertained  against  man  was  true  ;  yet  she  7cias 
a  woman,  and  this  unhappy  fate  that  impended  over  him  was 
not  excluded  out  of  the  code  of  her  heart's  humanity.  She 
wished  him  also  to  be  saved,  if  only  that  he  might  withdraw 


3*2 


WILLY  REILLY. 


from  Ireland  and  repent  of  his  crimes.  Altogether  she  was 
in  a  state  bordering  on  frenzy  and  despair,  and  was  often 
incapable  of  continuing  a  sustained  conversation. 

When  Whitecraft  reached  the  jail  in  his  carriage,  attend- 
ed by  a  guard  of  troopers,  the  jailer  knew  not  what  to  make 
of  it  ;  but  seeing  the  carriage,  which,  after  a  glance  or  two, 
he  immediately  recognized  as  that  of  the  well-known  grand 
juror,  he  came  out,  with  hat  in  hand,  bowing  most  obsequi- 
ously. 

'"  I  hope  your  honor's  well ;  you  are  coming  to  inspect  the 
prisoners,  I  suppose  "i  Always  active  on  behalf  of  Church 
and  State,  Sir  Robert." 

"  Come,  Mr.  O'Shaughnessy,"  said  one  of  the  constables, 
"get  on  with  no  nonsense.  You're  a  mighty  Church  and 
State  man  now ;  but  I  remember  when  there  was  as  rank  a 
rebel  under  your  coat  as  ever  thumped  a  craw.  Sir  Robert, 
sir,  is  here  as  our  prisoner,  and  will  soon  be  yours,  for  murder 
and  arson,  and  God  knows  what  besides.  Be  pleased  to  walk 
into  the  hatch,  Sir  Robert,  and  there  we  surrender  you  to  Mr. 
O'Shaughnessy,  who  will  treat  you  well  if  you  pay  him  well." 

They  then  entered  the  hatch.  The  constable  produced 
the  iniitimus  and  the  baronet's  person  both  together,  after 
which  they  withdrew,  having  failed  to  get  the  price  of  a  glass 
from  the  baronet  as  a  reward  for  their  civility. 

Such  scenes  have  been  described  a  hundred  times,  and 
we  consequently  shall  not  delay  our  readers  upon  this.  The 
baronet,  indeed,  imagined  that  from  his  rank  and  influence 
the  jailer  might  be  induced  to  give  him  comfortable  apartments. 
He  was  in,  however,  for  two  capital  felonies,  and  the  jailer, 
who  was  accmainted  with  the  turn  that  public  affairs  had  taken, 
told  him  that  upon  his  soul  and  conscience  if  the  matter  lay 
with  him  he  would  not  put  his  tionor  among  the  felons  ;  but 
then  he  had  no  discretion,  because  it  was  as  much  as  his  place 
was  worth  to  break  the  rules — a  thing  he  couldn't  think  of 
doing  as  an  honest  man  and  an  upright  officer. 

"  But  whatever  I  can  do  for  you.  Sir  Robert,  I'll  do." 

"  You  will  let  me  have  pen  and  ink,  won't  you  ? " 

"Well,  let  me  see.  Yes,  I  will.  Sir  Robert;  I'll  stretch 
that  far  for  the  sake  of  ould  times." 


WILL  V  REILL  V.  323 

CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE    SQUIRE    COMFORTS    WHITECRAFT    IN    HIS   AFFLICTION. 

The  old  squire  and  Cummiskey  lost  little  time  in  getting 
over  the  ground  to  the  town  of  Sligo,  and,  in  order  to  reach 
it  more  quickly,  they  took  a  short  cut  by  the  old  road  which 
we  have  described  at  the  beginning  of  this  narrative.  On 
arriving  at  that  part  of  it  from  which  they  could  view  the  spot 
where  Reilly  rescued  them  from  the  murderous  violence  of 
the  Red  Rapparee,  Cummiskey  pointed  to  it. 

"  Does  your  honor  remember  that  place,  where  you  see 
the  ould  buildin'  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  think  so.  Is  not  that  the  place  where  the  cursed 
Rapparee  attacked  us?" 

"  It  is,  sir  ;  and  where  poor  Reilly  saved  both  our  lives ; 
and  yet  your  honor's  goin'  to  hang  him." 

"You  know  nothing  about  it,  you  old  blockhead.  It  was 
all  a  plan  got  up  by  Reilly  and  the  Rapparee  for  the  purpose 
of  getting  introduced  to  my  daughter,  for  his  own  base  and 
selfish  purposes.  Yes,  I'll  hang  him  certainl}- — no  doubt  of 
that." 

"  Well,  sir,"  replied  Cummiskey,  "  it's  one  comfort  that 
he  won't  hang  by  himself." 

"No,"  said  the  other,  "he  and  the  Rapparee  will  stretch 
the  same  rope." 

"The  Rapparee  !  faith,  sir,  he'll  have  worse  company." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  sirra  ?  " 

"  Why,  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  sir  ;  he  always  had  gallows 
written  in  his  face  ;  but,  upon  my  soul,  he'll  soon  have  it 
about  his  neck,  please  God." 

"  Faith,  I'm  afraid  you  are  not  far  from  the  truth,  Cum- 
miskey," replied  his  master ;  "  however,  I  am  going  to  make 
arrangements  with  him,  to  see  what  can  be  done  for  the  un- 
fortunate man." 

"  If  you'll  take  my  advice,  sir,  you'll  have  nothing  to  do 
with  him.  Keep  your  hand  out  o'  the  pot ;  there's  no  man 
can  skim  boiling  lead  with  his  hand  and  not  burn  his  fingers 
— but  a  tinker." 

"  Don't  be  saucy,  you  old  dog ;  but  ride  on,  for  I  must 
put  Black  Tom  to  his  speed." 


324 


WILLY  REILLY. 


On  arriving  at  the  prison,  the  squire  found  Sir  Robert 
pent  up  in  a  miserable  cell,  with  a  table  screwed  to  the  floor, 
a  pallet  bed,  and  a  deal  form.  Perhaps  his  comfort  might 
have  been  improved  through  the  medium  of  his  purse,  were  it 
not  that  the  Prison  Board  had  held  a  meeting  that  very  day, 
subsequent  to  his  committal,  in  which,  with  some  dissen- 
tients, they  considered  it  their  duty  to  warn  the  jailer  against 
granting  him  any  indulgence  beyond  what  he  was  entitled 
to  as  a  felon,  and  this  under  pain  of  their  e;^rnest  dis- 
pleasure. 

When  the  squire  entered  he  found  the  melancholy  baronet 
and  priest-hunter  sitting  upon  the  hard  form,  his  head  hang 
ing  down  upon  his  breast,  or,  indeed,  we  might  say  much 
farther ;  for,  in  consequence  of  the  almost  unnatural  length 
of  his  neck,  it  appeared  on  that  occasion  to  be  growing  out 
of  the  middle  of  his  body,  or  of  that  fleshless  vertebral  col- 
umn which  passed  for  one. 

"  Well,  baronet,"  exclaimed  Folliard  pretty  loudly,  "here's 
an  exchange  !  from  the  altar  to  the  halter  ;  from  the  matri- 
monial noose  to  honest  Jack  Ketch's — and  a  devilish  good 
escape  it  would  be  to  many  unfortunate  wretches  in  this 
same  world." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Folliard,"  said  the  baronet,  "  is  not  this  miser- 
able t     What  will  become  of  me  ?  " 

"  Now,  I  tell  you  what,  Whitecraft,  I  am  come  to  speak 
to  you  upon  your  position  ;  but  before  I  go  farther,  let  me 
say  a  word  or  two  to  make  you  repent,  if  possible,  for  what 
you  have  done  to  others.'" 

"  For  what  I  have  done,  Mr.  Folliard  !  why  should  I  not 
repent,  when  I  find  I  am  to  be  hanged  for  it  ? " 

"Oh,  hanged  you  will  be,  there  is  no  doubt  of  that;  but 
now  consider  a  little  ;  here  you  are  with  a  brown  loaf,  and — 
is  that  water  in  the  jug  ?  " 

"It  is." 

"  Very  well ;  here  you  are,  hard  and  fast — you  who  were 
accustomed  to  luxuries,  to  the  richest  meats,  and  the  richest 
wines — here  you  are  with  a  brown  loaf,  a  jug  of  water,  and 
the  gallows  before  you !  However,  if  you  wish  to  repent 
truly  and  sincerely,  reflect  upon  the  numbers  that  you  and 
your  bloodhounds  have  consigned  to  places  like  this,  and 
sent  from  this  to  the  gibbet,  while  you  were  rioting  in  luxury 
and  triumph.  Good  God,  sir,  hold  up  your  head  and  be  a 
man.  What  if  you  are  hanged  ?  Many  a  better  man  w^s. 
Hold  up  your  head,  I  say." 


WILLY  REILLY. 


3*5 


"I  can't,  my  dear  Folliard  ;  it  won't  stay  up  for  me," 

"  Egad  !  and  you'll  soon  get  a  receipt  for  holding  it  up 
Why  the  mischief  can't  you  have  spunk  ?  " 

"  Spunk  ;  how  the  deuce  could  you  expect  spunk  from 
any  man  in  my  condition  ?  It  is  difiScult  to  understand  you, 
Mr.  Folliard  ;  you  told  me  a  minute  ago  to  repent,  and  now 
you  tell  me  to  have  spunk ;  pray  what  do  you  mean  by 
that  ?  " 

"  Why,  confound  it,  I  mean  that  you  should  repent  with 
spunk.  However,  let  us  come  to  more  important  matters  ; 
what  can  be  done  for  you  .''  " 

"  I  know  not ;  I  am  incapable  of  thinking  on  anything 
but  that  damned  gallows  without;  yet  I  should  wish  to  make 
my  will." 

"  Your  will !  Why,  I  think  you  have  lost  your  senses  ; 
dont't  you  know  that  when  you're  hanged  every  shilling  and 
acre  you  are  possessed  of  will  be  forfeited  to  the  crown  .? " 

"True,"  replied  the  other,  "I  had  forgotten  that.  Could 
Hastings  be  induced  to  decline  prosecuting.?" 

"What !  to  compromise  a  felony,  and  be  transported  him- 
self. Thank  you  for  nothing,  baronet ;  that's  a  rather  blue 
look  up.  No,  our  only  plan  is  to  try  and  influence  the  grand 
jury  to  throw  out  the  bills  ;  but  then,  again,  there  are  indict- 
ments against  you  to  no  end.  Hastings'  case  is  only  a  single 
one,  and,  even  if  he  failed,  it  would  not  better  your  condition 
a  whit.  Under  the  late  administration  we  could  have  saved 
you  by  getting  a  packed  jury ;  but  that's  out  of  the  question 
now.  All  we  can  do,  I  think  is  to  get  up  a  memorial  strongly 
signed,  supplicating  the  Lord  Lieutenant  to  commute  your 
sentence  from  hanging  to  transportation  for  life.  I  must  con- 
fess, however,  there  is  little  hope  even  there.  They  will 
come  down  with  their  cursed  reasoning  and  tell  us  that  the 
rank  and  education  of  the  offender  only  aggravate  the  offence  ; 
and  that,  if  they  allow  a  man  so  convicted  to  escape,  in  con- 
sequence of  his  high  position  in  life,  every  humble  man  found 
guilty  and  executed  for  the  same  crime — is  murdered.  They 
will  tell  us  it  would  be  a  prostitution  of  the  prerogative  of  the 
crown  to  connive  at  crime  in  the  rich  and  punish  it  in  the 
poor.  And,  again,  there's  the  devil  of  it;  your  beggarly  want 
of  hospitality  in  the  first  place,  and  the  cursed  swaggering 
severity  with  which  you  carried  out  your  loyalty,  by  making 
unexpected  domiciliary  visits  to  the  houses  of  loyal  but  hu- 
mane Protestant  families,  with  the  expectation  of  finding  a 
priest  or  a  Papist  under  their  protection  :  both  these,  I  say, 


326  WILL  Y  RE  ILL  V. 

have  made  you  the  most  unpopular  man  in  the  county ;  and, 
upon  my  soul,  Sir  Robert,  I  don't  think  there  will  be  a  man 
upon  the  grand  jury  whose  family  you  have  not  insulted  by 
your  inveterate  loyalty.  No  one,  I  tell  you,  likes  a  persecutor. 
Still,  I  say,  I'll  try  what  I  can  do  with  the  grand  jury.  I'll 
see  my  friends  and  yours — if  you  have  any  now,  make  out  a 
list  of  them  in  a  dayor  two — and  you  may  rest  assured  that 
I  will  leave  nothing  undone  to  extricate  you." 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  FoUiard ;  but  do  you  know  why  I  am 
here  ? " 

"To  be  sure  I  do." 

"No,  you  don't,  sir.  William  Reilly,  the  Jesuit  and  Pa- 
pist, is  the  cause  of  it,  and  will  be  the  cause  of  my  utter  ruin 
and  ignominious  death." 

"  How  is  that  ?  Make  that  plain  to  me  ;  only  make  that 
plain  to  me." 

"  He  is  the  bosom  friend  of  Hastings,  and  can  sway  him 
and  move  him  and  manage  him  as  a  father  would  his  child, 
or,  rather,  as  a  child  would  a  doting  father.  Reill)',  sir,  is  at 
the  bottom  of  this,  his  great  object  always  having  been  to 
prevent  a  marriage  between  me  and  your  beautiful  daughter  ; 
I,  who,  after  all,  have  done  so  much  for  Protestantism,  am 
the  victim  of  that  Jesuit  and  Papist." 

This  vindictive  suggestion  took  at  once,  and  the  impetu- 
ous old  squire  started  as  if  a  new  light  had  been  let  in  upon 
his  mind.  We  call  him  impetuous,  because,  if  he  had  re- 
flected only  for  a  moment  upon  the  diabolical  persecution, 
both  in  person  and  property,  which  Reilly  had  sustained  at 
the  baronet's  hands,  he  ought  not  to  have  blamed  him  had  he 
shot  the  scoundrel  as  if  he  had  been  one  of  the  most  rabid 
dogs  that  ever  ran  frothing  across  a  country.  We  say  the 
suggestion,  poisoned  as  it  was  by  the  most  specious  false- 
hood, failed  not  to  accomplish  the  villain's  object. 

FoUiard  grasped  him  by  the  hand.  "  Never  mind,"  said 
he;  "keep  yourself  quiet,  and  leave  Reilly  to  me;  I  have 
him,  that's  enough." 

''  No,"  replied  the  baronet,  "it  is  not  enough,  because  I 
know  what  will  happen  :  Miss  Folliard's  influence  over  you  is 
a  proverb  ;  now  she  will  cajole  and  flatter  and  beguile  you 
until  she  prevails  upon  you  to  let  the  treacherous  Jesuit  slip 
through  your  fingers,  and  then  he  will  get  off  to  the  Conti- 
nent, and  laugh  at  you  all,  after  having  taken  her  with  him  ; 
for  there  is  nothing  more  certain,  if  he  escapes  death  through 
your  indulgence,  than  that  you  will,  in   the  course  of  a  few 


WILLY  REILLY. 


327 


years,  find  yourself  grandfather  to  a  brood  of  young  Papists  ; 
and  when  I  say  Papists,  need  I  add  rebels .'' " 

•' Come,"  replied  (he  hot-headed  old  man,  "don't  insult 
me  ;  I  am  master  of  my  own  house,  and,  well  as  I  love  my 
daughter,  I  would  not  for  a  moment  suffer  her  to  interfere  in 
a  public  matter  of  this  or  any  other  kind.  Now  good  by ; 
kt*ep  your  spirits  up,  and  if  you  are  to  die,  why,  die  like  a 
ma  ." 

They  then  separated  ;  and  as  Folliard  was  passing  through 
the  hatch,  he  called  the  jailer  into  his  own  office,  and  strove 
to  prevail  upon  him,  ntt  ineffectually,  to  smuggle  in  some 
wine  and  other  comforts  to  the  baronet.  The  man  told  him 
that  he  would  with  pleasure  do  so  if  he  dared  ;  but  that  the 
caution  against  it  which  he  had  got  that  very  day  from  the 
board  rendered  the  thing  impossible.  Ere  the  squire  left 
him,  however,  his  scruples  were  overcome,  and  the  baronet, 
before  he  went  to  bed  that  night,  had  a  roast  duck  for  sup- 
per, with  two  bottles  of  excellent  claret  to  wash  it  down  and 
lull  his  conscience  into  slumber. 

"  Confound  it,"  the  squire  soliloquized,  on  their  way 
home,  "  I  am  as  stupid  as  Whitecraft  himself,  who  was  never 
stupid  until  now  ;  there  have  I  been  with  him  in  that  cursed 
dungeon,  and  neither  of  us  ever  thought  of  taking  measures 
for  his  defence.  Why,  he  must  have  the  best  lawyers  at  the 
bar,  and  fee  them  like  princes.  Gad  !  I  have  a  great  notion 
to  ride  back  and  speak  to  him  on  the  subject :  he's  in  such  a 
confounded  trepidation  about  his  life  that  he  can  think  of 
nothing  else.  No  matter,  I  shall  write  to  him  by  a  special 
messenger  early  in  the  morning.  It  would  be  a  cursed  slap 
in  the  face  to  have  one  of  our  leading  men  hanged — only, 
after  all,  for  carrying  out  the  wishes  of  an  anti  Papist  gov- 
ernment, who  connived  at  his  conduct,  and  encouraged  him 
in  it.  I  know  he  expected  a  coronet,  and  I  have  no  doubt 
but  he'd  have  got  one  had  his  party  remained  in  ;  but  now  all 
the  unfortunate  devil  is  likely  to  get  is  a  rope — and  be  hanged 
to  them  !  However,  as  to  my  own  case  about  Reilly — I  must 
secure  a  strong  bar  against  him  ;  and  if  we  can  only  prevail 
upon  Helen  to  state  the  facts  as  they  occurred,  there  is  little 
doubt  that  he  shall  suffer  j  for  hang  he  must,  in  consequence 
of  the  disgrace  he  has  brought  upon  my  daughter's  name  r.nd 
mine.  Whatever  I  might  have  forgiven,  I  will  never  forgive 
him  that." 

He  then  rode  on  at  a  rapid  pace,  and  did  not  slacken  his 
speed  until  he  reached  home.     Dinner  was  ready,  and  he  sat 


3^8  WILL  Y  RE  ILL  Y. 

down  with  none  but  Helen,  who  could  scarcely  touch  a  mor- 
sel. Her  father  saw  at  once  the  state  of  her  mind,  and  felt 
that  it  would  be  injudicious  to  introduce  any  subject  that 
might  be  calculated  to  excite  her.  They  accordingly  talked 
upon  commonplace  topics,  and  each  assumed  as  much  cheer- 
fuhiess  and  more  than  they  could  command.  It  was  a  mis- 
erable sight,  when  properly  understood,  to  see  the  father  and 
daughter  forced,  by  the  painful  peculiarity  of  their  riroum- 
stances,  thus  to  conceal  their  natural  sentiments  from  each 
other.  Love,  however,  is  often  a  disturber  .  i  families,  as  in 
the  case  of  Reilly  and  Cooleeti  Bawn;  and  so  is  an  avaricious 
ambition,  when  united  to  a  selfish  and  a  sensual  attachment, 
as  in  the  case  of  Whitecraft. 

It  is  unnecessary  now,  and  it  would  be  only  tedious,  to 
dwell  upon  the  energetic  preparations  that  were  made  for  the 
three  approaching  trials.  Public  rumor  had  taken  them  up 
and  sent  them  abroad  throughout  the  greater  portion  of  the 
kingdom.  The  three  culprits  were  notorious — Sir  Robert 
Whitecraft,  the  priest-hunter  and  prosecutor;  the  notorious 
Red  Rapparee,  whose  exploits  had  been  commemorated  in  a 
thousand  ballads  ;  ;  nd  "  Willy  Reilly ,  '  whose  .ove  for  the  far- 
famed  Cooleen  Bawn,  together  with  heruncon  uerable  passion 
for  him,  had  been  known  throughout  the  empire.  In  fact,  the 
interest  which  the  public  felt  in  the  result  of  the  approaching 
trials  was  intense,  not  only  in  Ireland,  but  throughout  Eng- 
land and  Scotland,  where  the  circumstances  connected  with 
them  were  borne  on  the  wings  of  the  press.  Love,  however, 
especially  the  romance  of  it — and  here  were  not  only  romance 
but  reality  enough — love,  we  say,  overcomes  all  collateral  in- 
terests— and  the  history  of  the  loves  of  Willy  Reilly  and  his 
"  dear  Cooleen  Bawn  "  even  then  touched  the  hearts  of  thou- 
sands, and  moistened  many  a  young  eye  for  his  calamities  and 
early  fate,  and  the  sorrows  of  his  Cooleen  Bawn. 

Helen's  father,  inspired  by  the  devilish  suggestions  of 
Whitecraft,  now  kept  aloof  from  her  as  much  as  he  could  with 
decency  do.  He  knew  his  own  weakness,  and  felt  tha  if  he 
suffered  her  to  gain  that  portion  of  his  society  to  which  she 
h?d  been  accustomed,  his  resolution  might  break  down,  and 
the  very  result  prognosticated  by  Whitecraft  might  be  br'-iught 
about.  Indeed  his  time  was  so  little  his  own,  between  his 
activity  in  defence  of  that  villain  and  his  energetic  operations 
foi  the  prosecution  of  Reilly,  that  he  had  not  much  to  spare 
her,  except  at  meals.  It  was  not,  however,  through  himself 
that  he  wished  to  win  her  over  to  prosecute  Reilly.     No ;  he 


WILL  y  REILL  Y.  32^ 

fe\t  his  difficulty,  and  knew  that  he  could  not  attempt  to  in- 
fluence her  with  a  good  giace,  or  any  force  of  argument.  He 
resolved,  therefore,  to  set  his  attorney  to  work,  who,  as  he 
understood  all  the  quirks  and  intricacy  of  the  law,  might  be 
able  io  puzzle  her  into  compliance.  This  gentleman,  however, 
who  possessed  at  once  a  rapacious  heart  and  a  stupid  head, 
might  have  fleeced  half  the  country  had  the  one  been  upon  a 
par  with  the  other.  He  was,  besides,  in  his  own  estimation, 
a  lady-killer,  and  knew  not  how  these  interviews  with  the  fair 
Cooleen  Bawn  might  end.  He,  at  all  events,  was  a  sound 
Protestant,  and  if  it  were  often  said  that  you  might  as  well 
ask  a  Highlander  for  a  knee-buckle  as  an  attorney  for  relig- 
ion, he  could  conscientiously  fall  back  upon  the  fact  that 
political  Protestantism  and  religion  were  very  different  things 
— for  an  attorney. 

Instructed  by  Folliard,  he  accordingly  waited  upon  her 
professionally,  in  her  father's  study,  during  his  absence,  and 
opened  his  case  as  follows  : 

"  I  have  called  upon  you,  Miss  Folliard,  by  the  direction 
of  your  father,  professionally,  and  indeed  I  thank  my  stars 
that  any  professional  business  should  give  me  an  opportunity 
of  admiring  so  far-famed  a  beauty." 

"Are  you  not  Mr.  Doldrum,"  she  asked,  "the  celebrated 
attorney  .''  " 

"  Doldrum  is  certainly  my  name,  my  lovely  client." 

"  Well,  Mr.  Doldrum,  I  think  I  have  heard  of  you  ;  but 
permit  me  to  say  that  before  you  make  love,  as  you  seem 
about  to  do,  I  think  it  better  you  should  mention  your  profes- 
sional business." 

"  It  is  very  simple,  Miss  Folliard  ;  just  to  know  whether 
you  have  any  objection  to  appear  as  an  evidence  against — he- 
hem. — against  Mr.  Reilly." 

"  Oh,  then  your  business  and  time  with  me  v.'ill  be  very 
brief,  Mr.  Doldrum.  It  is  my  intention  to  see  justice  done, 
and  for  that  purpose  I  shall  attend  the  trial,  and  if  I  find  that 
my  evidence  will  be  necessary,  I  assure  you  I  shall  give  it. 
But,  Mr.  Doldrum,  one  word  with  you  before  you  go." 

''  A  hundred — a  thousand,  my  clear  lady." 

"  It  is  this  :  I  beg  as  a  personal  favor  that  you  will  use 
your  great  influence  with  my  father  to  prevent  him  from  talk- 
ing to  me  on  this  subject  until  the  day  of  trial  comes.  By 
being  kind  enough  to  do  this  you  will  save  me  ficm  much 
anxiety  and  annoyance." 

-"  I  pledge  you  my  honor,  madam,  that    your  wishes  shaU 


330 


WILLY  REILLY. 


be  complied  with  to  the  letter,  as  far,  at  least,  as  any  influ- 
ence of  mine  can  accomplish  them.'' 

"  Thank  you,  sir  ;  I  wish  you  a  good-morning." 

"  Good-morning,  madam  ;  it  shall  not  be  my  fault  if  you  are 
harassed  upon  this  most  painful  subject ;  and  I  pledge  you 
my  reputation  that  I  never  contributed  to  hang  a  man  in  my 
life  with  more  regret  than  I  experience  in  this  unfortunate 
case." 

It  is  quite  a  common  thing  to  find  vanity  and  stupidity 
united  in  the  same  individual,  as  they  were  in  Mr.  Doldrum. 
He  was  Mr.  Folliard's  country  attorney,  and,  in  consequence 
of  his  strong  Protestant  politics,  was  engaged  as  the  law  agent 
of  his  property  ;  and  for  the  same  reason — that  is,  because  he 
was  a  violent,  he  was  considered  a  very  able  man. 

There  is  a  class  of  men  in  the  world  who,  when  they  once 
engage  in  a  pursuit  or  an  act  of  any  importance,  will  persist 
in  working  it  out,  rather  than  be  supposed,  by  relinquishing 
it,  when  they  discover  themselves  wrong,  to  cast  an  imputa- 
tion on  their  own  judgments.  To  such  a  class  belonged  Mr. 
Folliard,  who  never,  in  point  of  fact,  acted  upon  any  fixed  or 
distinct  principle  whatsoever  ;  yet  if  he  once  took  a  matter 
into  his  head,  under  the  influence  of  caprice  or  impulse,  no 
man  could  evince  more  obstinacy  or  perseverance,  apart  from 
all  its  justice  or  moral  associations,  so  long,  at  least,  as  that 
caprice  or  impulse  lasted.  The  reader  may  have  perceived 
from  his  dialogue  with  Helen,  on  the  morning  appointed 
for  her  marriage  with  Whitecraft,  that  the  worthy  baronet, 
had  he  made  his  appearance,  stood  a  strong  chance  of  being 
sent  about  his  business  as  rank  a  bachelor  as  he  had  come. 
And  yet,  because  he  was  cunning  enough  to  make  the  hot- 
brained  and  credulous  old  man  believe  that  Reilly  was  at  the 
bottom  of  the  plan  for  his  destruction,  and  Hastings  only  the 
passive  agent  in  his  hands  ;  we  saj',  because  he  succeeded  in 
making  this  impression,  which  he  knew  to  be  deliberately 
false,  upon  his  plastic  nature,  he,  Folliard,  worked  himself  up 
into  a  vindictive  bitterness  peculiar  to  little  minds,  as  well  as 
a  fixed  determination  that  Reilly  should  die  ;  not  by  any 
means  so  much  because  he  took  away  his  daughter  as  that  his 
death  might  be  marked  in  this  conflict  of  parties  as  a  set-off 
against  that  of  Whitecraft. 

In  the  mean  time  he  and  Helen  entertained  each  a  dif- 
ferent apprehension ;  he  dreaded  that  she  might  exercise  her 
influence  over  him  for  the  purpose  of  softening  him  against 
Reilly,  whom,  if  he  had  suffered  himself  to   analyze  his  own 


WILL  Y  REILL  Y.  33 1 

heart,  he  would  have  found  there  in  the  shape  of  something 
very  like  a  favorite.  Helen,  on  the  contrary,  knew  that  she 
was  expected  to  attend  the  trial,  in  order  to  give  evidence 
against  her  lover  ;  and  she  lived  for  a  few  days  after  his  com- 
mittal under  the  constant  dread  that  her  father  would  perse- 
cute her  with  endless  arguments  to  induce  her  attendance  at 
the  assizes.  Such,  besides,  was  her  love  of  truth  and  candor, 
and  her  hatred  of  dissimulation  in  every  shape,  that,  if  either 
her  father  or  the  attorney  had  asked  her,  in  explicit  terms, 
what  the  tendency  of  her  evidence  was  to  be,  she  would  at 
once  have  satisfied  them  that  it  should  be  in  favor  of  her 
lover.  In  the  mean  time  she  felt  that,  as  they  did  not  press 
her  on  this  point,  it  would  have  been  madness  to  volunteer  a 
disclosure  of  a  matter  so  important  to  the  vindication  of 
Reilly's  conduct.  To  this  we  may  add  her  intimate  knowl- 
edge of  her  father's  whimsical  character  and  unsteadiness  of 
purpose.  She  was  not  ignorant  that,  even  if  he  were  abso- 
lutely aware  that  the  tenor  of  her  evidence  was  to  go  against 
Reilly.  his  mind  might  change  so  decidedly  as  to  call  upon 
her  to  give  evidence  in  his  defence.  Under  these  circum- 
stances she  acted  with  singular  prudence,  in  never  alluding  to 
a  topic  of  such  difficulty,  and  which  involved  a  contingency 
that  might  affect  her  lover  in  a  double  sense. 

Her  father's  conduct,  however,  on  this  occasion,  saved 
them  both  a  vast  deal  of  trouble  and  annoyance,  and  the  con- 
sequence was  that  they  met  as  seldom  as  possible.  In  addi- 
tion to  this,  we  may  state  that  Doldrum  communicated  the 
successful  result  of  his  interview  with  Miss  FoUiard — her 
willingness  to  attend  the  trial  and  see  justice  done,  upon  con- 
dition that  she  should  not  have  the  subject  obtruded  on  her, 
either  by  her  father  or  anyone  else,  until  the  appointed  day 
should  arrive,  when  she  would  punctually  attend.  In  this 
state  were  the  relative  positions  and  feelings  of  father  and 
daughter  about  a  month  before  the  opening  of  the  assizes. 

In  the  mean  time  the  squire  set  himself  to  work  for  the 
baronet.  The  ablest  lawyers  were  retained,  but  Whitecraft 
most  positively  objected  to  Folliard's  proposal  of  engaging 
Doldrum  as  his  attorney  ;  he  knew  the  stupidity  and  igno- 
rance of  the  man,  and  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  him  as 
the  conductor  of  his  case.  His  own  attorney,  Mr.  Sharply, 
was  eno^asred  ;  and  indeed  his  selection  of  a  keen  and  able 
man  such  as  he  was  did  credit  both  to  his  sagacity  and  fore- 
sight. 

Considering  the  state  of  the  country  at  that  particular  pe- 
riod, the  matter  begaa  to  assume  a  most  important  aspect. 


332  ^ILL  Y  REILL  K 

A  portion  of  the  Protestant  party,  by  which  we  mean  those 
who  had  sanctioned  all  Whitecraft's  brutal  and  murderous  ex- 
cesses, called  every  tnergy  and  exertion  into  work,  in  order 
to  defeat  the  government  and  protect  the  leading  man  of  their 
own  clique.  On  the  other  hand,  there  was  the  government, 
firm  and  decided,  by  the  just  operation  of  the  laws,  to  make  an 
example  of  the  man  who  had  not  only  availed  himself  of  those 
laws  when  they  were  with  him,  but  who  scrupled  not  to  set 
them  aside  when  they  were  against  him,  and  to  enforce  his 
bloodthirsty  instincts  upon  his  own  responsibility.  The  gov- 
ernment, however,  were  not  without  large  and  active  support 
from  those  liberal  Protestants,  who  had  been  disgusted  and 
sickened  by  the  irresponsible  outrages  of  such  persecutors  as 
Whitecraft  and  Smellpriest,  Upon  those  men  the  new  gov- 
ernment relied,  and  relied  with  safety.  The  country  was  in  a 
tumult,  the  bigoted  party  threatened  an  insurrection  ;  and  they 
did  so,  not  because  they  felt  themselves  in  a  position  to  effect 
it,  but  in  order  to  alarm  and  intimidate  the  government.  On 
the  other  hand,  the  Catholics,  who  had  given  decided  proofs 
of  their  loyalty  by  refusing  to  join  the  Pretender,  now  express- 
ed their  determination  to  support  the  government  if  an  out- 
break among  that  section  of  the  Protestant  party  to  which  we 
have  just  alluded  should  take  place. 

But  perhaps  the  real  cause  of  the  conduct  of  government 
might  be  traced  to  Whitecraft's  outrage  upon  a  French  subject 

in  the  person  of  the  Abbd .  The  matter,  as  we  have  stated, 

was  seriously  taken  up  by  the  French  ambassador,  in  the  name, 
and  by  the  most  positive  instructions,  of  his  court.  The  vil- 
lain Whitecraft,  in  consequence  of  that  wanton  and  unjustifi- 
able act,  went  far  to  involve  the  two  nations  in  a  bitter  and 
bloody  war.  England  was  every  day  under  the  apprehension 
of  a  French  invasion,  which,  of  course,  she  dreaded;  some- 
thing must  be  done  to  satisfy  the  French  court.  Perhaps,  had 
it  not  been  for  this,  the  general  outrage  committed  upon  the 
unfortunate  Catholics  of  Ireland  would  never  have  become 
the  subject  of  a  detailed  investigation.  An  investigation,  how- 
ever, took  place,  by  which  a  system  of  the  most  incredible  per- 
secution was  discovered,  and  a  milder  administration  of  the 
laws  was  found  judicious,  in  order  to  conciliate  the  Catholic 
party,  and  prevent  them  from  embracing  the  cause  of  the  Pre- 
tender. At  all  events,  what  between  the  necessity  of  satisfy- 
ing the  claims  of  the  French  government,  and  in  apprehension 
of  a  Catholic  defection,  the  great  and  principal  criminal  was 
selected  for  punishment.  The  Irish  government,  however, 
who  were  already  prepared  with  their  charges,  found  them- 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  333 

selves  already  anticipated  by  Mr.  Hastings,  a  fact  which  en- 
abled them  to  lie  on  their  oars  and  await  the  result. 

Such  was  the  state  and  condition  of  affairs  as  the  assizes 
were  within  ten  days  of  opening. 

One  evening  about  this  time  the  old  squire,  who  never  re- 
mained long  in  the  same  mood  of  feeling,  sent  for  his  daughter 
to  the  dining-room,  where  he  was  engaged  at  his  Burgundy. 
The  poor  girl  feared  that  he  was  about  to  introduce  the  pain- 
ful subject  which  she  dreaded  so  much — that  is  to  say,  the 
necessitv  of  giving  her  evidence  against  Reilly.  After  some 
conversation,  however,  she  was  relieved,  for  he  did  not  allude 
to  it  ;  but  he  did  to  the  fate  of  Reilly  himself,  the  very  subject 
which  was  wringing  her  heart  with  agony. 

"  Helen,"  said  he,  "  I  have  been  thinking  of  Reilly's  affair, 
and  it  strikes  me  that  he  may  be  saved,  and  become  your 
husband  still ;  because,  you  know,  that  if  Whitecraft  was  ac- 
quitted, now  that  he  has  been  publicly  disgraced,  I'd  see  the 
devil  picking  his  bones — and  very  hard  picking  he'd  find 
them — before  I'd  give  you  to  him  as  a  wife." 

"  Thank  you,  my  dear  papa ;  but  let  me  ask  why  it  is 
that  you  are  so  active  in  stirring  up  his  party  to  defend  such  a 
man  ?  " 

"  Foolish  girl,"  he  replied;  "it  is  not  the  man,  but  the 
cause  and  the  principle,  we  defend." 

"  What,  papa,  the  cause  !  bloodshed  and  persecution  !  I 
believe  you  to  be  possessed  of  a  human  heart,  papa  ;  but,  not- 
withstanding his  character  and  his  crimes,  I  do  not  wish  the 
unfortunate  man  to  be  struck  into  the  grave  without  repent- 
ance." 

"  Repentance,  Helen  !  How  the  deuce  could  a  man  feel 
repentance  who  does  not  believe  the  Christian  religion  ?  " 

"  But  then,  sir,  has  he  not  the  reputation  of  being  a  sound 
and  leading  Protestant  ?  " 

"  Oh,  hang  his  reputation  ;  it  is  not  of  him  I  wish  to  speak 
to  you,  but  Reilly." 

Helen's  heart  beat  rapidly  and  thickly,  but  she  spoke  not. 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  "  I  have  a  project  in  my  head  that  I  think 
may  save  Reilly." 

"  Pray,  what  is  it,  may  I  ask,  papa? " 

"  No,  you  may  not ;  but  to-morrow  I  will  give  him  an 
early  call,  and  let  you  know  how  I  succeed,  after  my  return  to 
dinner  ;  yes,  I  will  tell  you  after  dinner.  But  listen,  Helen, 
it  is  the  opinion  of  the  baronet's  friends  that  they  will  be  a,ble 
to  save  him." 


334 


WILLY  REILLY. 


"  I  hope  they  may,  sir.  I  should  not  wish  to  see  any  fel- 
low-creature brought  to  an  ignominious  death  in  the  midst  of 
his  offences,  and  in  the  prime  of  life." 

"But,  on  the  contrary,  if  he  swings,  we  are  bound  to  sacri- 
fice one  of  the  Papist  party  for  him,  and  Reilly  is  the  man. 
Now  don't  look  so  pale,  Helen — don't  look  as  if  death  was 
settled  in  your  face  ;  his  fate  may  be  avoided  ;  but  ask  me 
nothing — the  project's  my  own,  and  I  will  communicate  it  to 
no  one  until  I  shall  have  ascertained  whither  I  fail  in  it  or 
not." 

"  I  trust,  sir,  it  will  be  nothing  that  will  involve  him  in  any- 
thing dishonorable  3  but  why  do  I  ask  ?  He  is  incapable  of 
that." 

"  Well,  well,  leave  the  matter  in  my  hand ;  and  now,  upon 
the  strength  of  my  project,  I'll  take  another  bumper  of  Bur- 
gundy, and  drink  to  its  success." 

Helen  pleaded  some  cause  for  withdrawing,  as  she  enter- 
tained an  apprehension  that  he  might  introduce  the  topic 
which  she  most  dreaded — that  of  her  duty  to  give  evidence 
against  Reilly.  When  she  was  gone  he  began  to  ponder  over 
several  subjects  connected  with  the  principal  characters  of 
this  narrative  until  he  became  drowsy,  during  which  period 
halters,  gibbets,  gallowses,  hangmen,  and  judges  jumbled  each 
other  alternately  through  his  fancy,  until  he  fell  fast  asleep  in 
his  easy-chair. 


CHAPTER  XXni. 


THE  SQUIRE  BECOMES  THEOLOGICAL  AND   A  PROSELYTYZER,  BUT 

SIGNALLY  FAILS. 

The  next  morning  he  and  Cummiskey  started  for  Sligo, 
and,  as. usual,  when  they  reached  the  jail  tlv^  turnkey  was 
about  to  conduct  the  squire  to  Sir  R'  bc-rt's  room,  when  the 
former  turned  and  said  : 

"  I  wish  to  see  Mr.  Reilly  ;  lead  me  to  his  cell." 

"  Reilly,  sir  !  "  exclaimed  the  man  in  astonishment.  *'  Are 
you  sure,  sir,  it's  not  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  you  want.-*  " 

"  Are  you  sure,  sir,  that  it's  not  a  cut  of  my  whip  about 
the  ears  that  you  want  ?     Conduct  me  to  where  Reilly  is,  you 


WILL  Y  REILL  Y. 


335 


rascal  ;  do  you  pretend  to  know  the  individual  I  wish  to  see 
better  than  I  do  myself  ?     Push  along,  sirra." 

The  turnkey  accordingly  conducted  him  to  Reilly's  cell, 
which,  considerably  to  his  surprise,  was  a  much  more  comfort- 
able one  than  had  been  assigned  to  the  baronet.  When  they 
had  reached  the  corridor  in  which  it  was  situated,  Folliard 
said,  "  Knock  at  the  door,  and  when  he  appears  tell  him  that 
/wish  to  see  him." 

"  I  will,  your  honor." 

"  Say  I  won't  detain  him  long." 

"  I  will,  your  honor." 

**  Hang  your  honor,  go  and  do  what  I  desire  you." 

"  I  will,  your  honor." 

Reilly's  astonishment  was  beyond  belief  on  learning  that 
his  vindictive  prosecutor  had  called  upon  him  ;  but  on  more 
mature  reflection,  and  comparing  what  had  happened  before 
with  the  only  motive  which  he  could  assign  for  such  a  visit^ 
he  felt  pretty  certain  that  the  squire  came  to  revive,  in  his- 
own  person,  a  subject  which  he  had  before  proposed  to  him- 
through  his  daughter.  There  was  no  other  earthly  object  tO' 
which  he  could  attribute  his  visit ;  but  of  course  he  made  up 
his  mind  to  receive  him  with  every  courtesy.  At  length  Fol- 
liard entered,  and,  before  Reilly  had  time  to  utter  a  syllable, 
commenced  : 

"  Reilly,"  said   he,  "you  are  astonished  to  see  me  here  .^ '^ 

"I  am,  sir,"  replied  Reilly,  "very  much." 

"  Yes,  I  thought  you  would  ;  and  very  few  persons,  except 
myself,  would  come  upon  such  an  errand  to  the  man  that  has 
disgraced  my  daughter,  myself,  and  my  family  ;  you  have 
stained  our  name,  sir — a  name  that  was  never  associated 
with  anything  but  honor  and  purity  until  you  came  among  us." 

"  If  you  have  paid  me  this  visit,  sir,  only  for  the  purpose 
of  uttering  language  which  you  know  must  be  very  painful  to 
me,  I  would  rather  you  had  declined  to  call  upon  me  at  all. 
I  perceive  no  object  you  can  have  in  it,  unless  to  gratify  a 
feeling  of  enmity  on  your  part,  and  excite  one  of  sorrow  on 
mine.  I  say  sorrow,  because,  on  considering  our  relative- 
positions,  and'knowing  the  impetuosity  of  your  temper,  I  am 
sorry  to  see  you  here  ;  it  is  scarcely  generous  in  you  to  come, 
for  the  purpose  of  indulging  in  a  poor,  and  what,  after  all, 
may  be  an  equivocal  and  premature  triumph  over  a  man 
whose  love  for  your  daughter,  you  must  know,  will  seal  his 
lips  against  the  expression  of  one  offensive  word  towards- 
you." 


336  WILL  V  REILL  V. 

"  But  how,  let  me  ask,  sir,  do  you  know  what  brought  me 
here  ?  I  didn't  come  to  scold  you,  nor  to  triumph  over  you  ; 
and  I  have  already  said  the  worst  I  shall  say.  I  know  very 
well  that  you  and  Whitecraft  will  be  hanged,  probably  from 
the  same  rope  too,  but,  in  the  mean  time,  I  would  save  you 
both  if  I  could.  I  fear  indeed  that  to  save  him  is  out  of  the 
question,  because  it  appears  that  there's  a  cart-load  of  indict- 
ments against  him." 

'•  How  could  you  doubt  it,  sir,  when  you  know  the  incred- 
ible extent  of  his  villany,  both  private  and  public  ?  and  yet 
this  is  the  man  to  whom  you  would  have  married  your 
daughter !  " 

"  No ;  when  I  found  Helen  reduced  to  such  a  state  the 
morning  on  which  they  were  to  be  married,  I  told  her  at  once 
that  as  she  felt  so  bitterly  against  him  I  would  never  suffer 
him  to  become  her  husband.  Neither  will  I  ;  if  he  were  ac- 
quitted to-morrow  I  would  tell  him  so  ;  but  you,  Reilly,  love 
my  daughter  for  her  own  sake." 

"  For  her  own  sake,  sir,  as  you  have  said,  I  love  her  If 
she  had  millions,  it  could  not  increase  my  affection,  and  if 
she  had  not  a  penny,  it  would  not  diminish  it." 

"  Well,  but  you  can  have  her  if  you  wish,  notwithstanding." 

Reilly  first  looked  at  him  with  amazement  ;  but  he  was  so 
thoroughly  acquainted  with  his  character,  both  from  what  he 
had  seen  and  heard  of  it,  that  his  amazement  passed  away, 
and  he  simply  replied  : 

"  Pray  how,  sir.-'  " 

"Why,  I'll  tell  you  what,  Reilly;  except  with  respect  to 
political  principles,  I  don't  think,  after  all,  that  there's  the 
difference  of  a  rush  between  the  Papist  and  the  Protestant 
Churches,  as  mere  religions.  My  own  opinion  is,  that  there's 
neither  of  them  any  great  shakes,  as  to  any  effect  they  have 
on  society,  unless  to  disturb  it.  I  have  known  as  good 
Papists  as  ever  I  did  Protestants,  and  indeed  I  don't  know 
why  a  Papist  should  not  be  as  good  a  man  as  a  Protestant ; 
nor  why  a  Protestant  should  not  be  as  good  a  man  as  a  Papist, 
on  the  other  hand.     Now,  do  you  see  what  I'm   driving  at?" 

*'  Well,  I  can't  exactly  say  that  I  do,  '  replied  Reilly. 

"  Then  the  upshot  of  the  argument  is  this,  that  there  is 
not  a  toss-up  between  them,  and  any  man  getting  into  a  scrape, 
and  who  could  get  out  of  it  by  changing  from  one  to  the  other 
— Of  course  I  mean  from  Popery  to  Protestantism — would 
prove  himself  a  man  of  good  sound  sense,  and  above  the 
prejudices  of  the  world." 


WILLY  REILLV.  ^27 

The  truth  is,  Reilly  saw  ere  this  what  Folliard  was  ap- 
proaching, and,  as  he  determined  to  allow  him  full  scope,  his 
reply  was  brief : 

"You  seem  fond  of  indulging  in  speculation,  sir,"  replied 
Reilly,  with  a  smile  ;  "  but  I  should  be  glad  to  know  why  you 
introduce  this  subject  to  me  i  " 

"  To  you  ?  "  replied  Folliard  ;  "  why,  who  the  devil  else 
should  or  could  I  introduce  it  to  with  such  propriety?  Here 
now  are  two  religions ;  one's  not  sixpence  better  nor  worse 
than  the  other.  Now,  you  belong  to  one  of  them,  and  be- 
cause you  do  you're  here  snug  and  fast.  I  say,  then,  I  have 
a  proposal  to  make  to  you  :  you  are  yourself  in  a  difficulty — 
you  have  placed  me  in  a  difficulty — and  you  have  placed  poor 
Helen  in  a  difficulty — which,  if  anything  happens  you,  I  think 
will  break  her  heart,  poor  child.  Now  you  can  take  her  your- 
self, and  me,  out  of  all  our  difficulties,  if  you  have  only  sense 

enough  to  shove  over  from  the  old  P to  the  young  P . 

As  a  Protestant,  you  can  marry  Helen,  Reilly — but  as  a 
Papist,  never!  and  you  know  the  rest ;  for  if  you  are  obsti- 
nate, and  blind  to  your  own  interests,  I  must  do  my  duty." 

"  Will  you  allow  me  to  ask,  sir,  whether  Miss  Folliard  is 
, aware  of  this  mission  of  yours  to  me  }  " 

"  She  aware  !  She  never  dreamt  of  it ;  but  I  have  prom- 
ised to  tell  her  the  result  after  dinner  to-day." 

"Well,  sir,"  replied  Reilly,  "will  you  allow  me  to  state  to 
you  a  few  facts  ?  " 

"  Certainly;  go  on." 

"  In  the  first  place,  then,  such  is  your  daughter's  high  and 
exquisite  sense  of  integrity  and  honor  that,  if  I  consented  to 
the  terms  you  propose,  she  would  reject  me  with  indignation 
and  scorn,  as  she  ought  to  do.  There,  then,  is  your  project 
for  accomplishing  my  selfish  and  dishonest  apostacy  given  to 
the  winds.  Your  daughter,  sir,  is  too  pure  in  all  her  moral 
feelings,  and  too  noble-minded,  to  take  to  her  arms  a  rene- 
gade husband — a  renegade,  too,  not  from  conviction,  but 
from  selfish  and  mercenary  purposes." 

"  Confound  the  thing,  this  is  but  splitting  hairs,  Reilly, 
and  talking  big  for  effect.  Speak,  however,  for  yourself;  as 
for  Helen,  I  know  very  well  that,  in  spite  of  your  heroics  and 
her's,  she'd  be  devilish  glad  you'd  become  a  Protestant  and 
marry  her." 

"  1  am  sorry  to  say,  sir,  that  you  don't  know  your  own 
daughter ;  but  as  for  me,  Mr.  Folliard,  if  one  word  of  your's, 
or  of  her's,  could  place  me  on  the  British  throne,  I  would  not 


338  WILL  Y  REILL  Y. 

abandon  my  religion.  Under  no  circumstances  would  I  aban- 
don it;  but  least  of  all,  now  that  it  is  so  barbarously  perse- 
cuted by  its  enemies.     This,  sir,  is  my  final  determination." 

'■  But  do  you  know  the  alternative  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,  nor  do  you." 

"  Don't  I,  faith  ?  Why,  the  alternative  is  simpl)'  this — 
either  marriage  or  hanging  1," 

'■  Be  it  so  ;  in  that  case  I  will  die  like  a  man  of  honor  and 
a  true  Christian  and  Catholic,  as  I  hope  I  am." 

"  As  a  true  fool,  Reill}' — as  a  true  fool.  I  took  this  step 
privately,  out  of  respect  for  your  character.  See  how  many 
of  your  creed  became  Protestants  for  the  sake  of  mere  prop- 
erty;  think  how  many  of  them  join  our  Church  for  the  pur- 
pose of  ousting  their  own  fathers  and  relatives  from  their 
estates  ;  and  what  is  it  all,  on  their  parts,  but  the  consequence 
of  an  enlightened  judgment  that  shows  them  the  errors  of 
their  old  creed,  and  the  truth  of  ours  .''  I  think,  Reilly,  you  are 
loose  about  the  brains." 

"  That  may  be,  sir,  but  you  will  never  find  me  loose  about 
my  principles." 

"  Are  you  aware,  sir,  that  Helen  is  to  appear  against  you 
as  an  t  vidence  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,  I  am  not,  neither  do  I  believe  it.  But  now,  sir, 
I  beg  you  to  terminate  this  useless  and  unpleasant  interview. 
I  can  look  into  my  own  conscience  with  satisfaction,  and  am 
prepared  for  the  worst.  If  the  scaffold  is  to  be  my  fate,  I 
cannot  but  remember  that  many  a  noble  spirit  has  closed  the 
cares  of  an  unhappy  life  upon  it.  I  wish  you  good-da}',  Mr. 
FoUiard." 

"  By  the  Boyne  !  you  are  the  most  obstinate  blockhead 
that  ever  lived  ;  but  I've  done  ;  I  did  all  in  mv  power  to  save 
you — yet  to  no  purpose.  Upon  my  soul,  I'll  come  to  your 
execution." 

"  And  if  you  do,  you  will  see  me  die  like  a  man  and  a 
gentleman  ;  may  I  humbly  add  like  a  Christian  !  " 

The  squire,  on  his  way  home,  kept  up  a  long,  low  whistle, 
broken  only  by  occasional  soliloquies,  in  which  Reilly's  want 
of  common-sense,  and  neglect  not  only  of  his  temporal  in- 
terests, but  of  his  life  itself,  were  the  prevailing  sentiments. 
He  regretted  his  want  of  success,  which  he  imputed  alto- 
gether to  Reilly's  obstinacy,  instead  of  his  integrity,  firmness, 
and  honor. 

This  train  of  reflection  threw  him  into  one  of  those  capri- 
cious fits  of  resentment  so  peculiar  to  his  unsteady  temper, 


WILL  y  REILL  Y. 


339 


and  as  he  went  along  he  kept  lashing  himself  up  into  a  red 
heat  of  indignation  and  vengeance  against  that  unfortunate 
gentleman.  After  dinner  that  day  he  felt  somewhat  puzzled 
as  to  whether  he  ought  to  communicate  to  his  daugliter  the 
result  of  his  interview  with  Reilly  or  not.  Upon  consider- 
ation, however,  he  deemed  it  more  prudent  to  avoid  the  sub- 
ject altogether,  for  he  felt  apprehensive  that,  however  she 
might  approve  of  her  lover's  conduct,  the  knowledge  of  his 
fate,  which  depended  on  it,  would  only  plunge  her  into 
deeper  distress.  The  evening  consequently  passed  without 
any  allusion  to  the  subject,  unless  a  peculiar  tendency  to 
melody,  on  his  part,  might  be  taken  to  mean  something  ;  to 
this  we  might  add  short  abrupt  ejaculations  unconsciously 
uttered — such  as — "  Whew,  whew,  whew-o-whew-o — hang  the 
fellow !  Whew,  whew-o-whew — he's  a  cursed  goose,  but  an 
obstinate — whew,  whew-o-whew-o.  Ay,  but  no  matter — well 
— whew,  whew-o,  whew,  whew  !  Helen,  a  cup  of  tea.  Now, 
Helen,  do  you  know  a  discovery  I  have  made — but  how  could 
you  ?  No,  you  don't,  of  course  ;  but  listen  and  pay  attention 
to  me,  because  it  deeply  affects  myself." 

The  poor  girl,  apprehensive  that  he  was  about  to  divulge 
some  painful  secret,  became  pale  and  a  good  deal  agitated ; 
she  gave  him  a  long,  inquiring  look,  but  said  nothing. 

"  Yes,  Helen,  and  the  discovery  is  this :  I  find  from  ex- 
perience that  tea  and  Burgundy — or,  indeed,  tea  and  any  kind 
of  wine — don't  agree  with  my  constitution  :  curse  that  fel — 
whew,  whew,  whew,  whew-o-whew  ;  no,  the  confounded  mixture 
turns  my  stomach  into  nothing  more  nor  less  than  a  bag  o^ 
aquafortis — if  he  had  but  common — whew — " 

"Well,  but,  papa,  why  do  you  take  tea,  then?" 

"  Because  I'm  an  old  fool,  Helen  ;  and  if  I  am,  there  are 
some  young  ones  besides  ;  but  it  can't  be  helped  now — whew, 
whew — it  was  done  for  the  best." 

In  this  manner  he  went  on  for  a  considerable  time,  ejacu- 
lating mysteries  and  enigmas,  until  he  finished  the  second 
bottle,  after  which  he  went  to  bed. 

It  may  be  necessary  to  state  here  that,  notwithstanding  the 
incredible  force  and  tenderness  of  his  affection  for  his 
daughter,  he  had,  ever  since  her  elopement  with  Reilly,  kept 
her  under  the  strictest  surveillance,  and  in  the  greatest  se- 
clusion— that  is  to  say,  as  the  proverb  has  it,  "  he  locked  the 
stable  door  when  the  steed  was  stolen  ; "  or  if  he  did  not 
realize  the  aphorism,  he  came  very  near  it. 

Time,  however,  passes,  and   the  assizes  were   at  hand,  a 


2  40  WILL  Y  RE  ILL  Y. 

fearful  Avatar  of  judicial  power  to  the  guilty.  The  struggl* 
between  the  parties  who  were  interested  in  the  fate  of  White- 
craft,  and  those  who  felt  the  extent  of  his  unparalleled  guilt, 
and  the  necessity  not  merely  of  making  him  an  example  but 
of  punishing  him  for  his  enormous  crimes,  was  dreadful. 
The  infatuation  of  political  rancor  on  one  side,  an  infatuation 
which  could  perceive  nothing  but  the  virtue  of  high  and 
resolute  Protestantism  in  his  conduct,  blinded  his  supporters 
to  the  enormity  of  his  conduct,  and,  as  a  matter  of  course, 
they  left  no  stone  unturned  to  save  his  life.  As  we  said,  how- 
ever, they  were  outnumbered  ;  but  still  they  did  not  despair. 
Reilly's  friends  had  been  early  in  the  legal  market,  and  suc- 
ceeded in  retaining  some  of  the  ablest  men  at  the  bar,  his 
leading  counsel  being  the  celebrated  advocate  Fox,  who  was 
at  that  time  one  of  the  most  distinguished  men  at  the  Irish 
Jbar.  Helen,  as  the  assizes  approached,  broke  down  so  com- 
pletely in  her  health  that  it  was  felt,  if  she  remained  in 
that  state,  that  she  would  be  unable  to  attend  ;  and  although 
Reilly's  trial  was  first  on  the  list,  his  opposing  counsel  suc- 
ceeded in  getting  it  postponed  for  a  day  or  two,  in  order  that 
an  important  witness,  then  ill,  he  said,  might  be  able  to 
appear  on  their  part. 

It  is  not  our  intention  to  go  through  the  details  of  the 
trial  of  the  Red  Rapparee.  The  evidence  of  Mary  Mahon, 
Fergus  O'Reilly,  and  the  sheriff,  was  complete  ;  the  chain  was 
unbroken  ;  the  change  of  apparel — the  dialogue  in  Mary 
Mahon's  cabin,  in  which  he  avowed  the  fact  of  his  having 
irobbed  the  sheriff — the  identification  of  his  person  by  the 
said  sheriff  in  the  farmer's  house,  as  before  stated,  left  noth- 
ing for  the  jury  to  do  but  to  bring  in  a  verdict  of  guilty. 
Mercy  was  out  of  the  question.  The  hardened  ruffian — the 
treacherous  ruffian — who  had  lent  himself  to  the  bloodthirsty 
schemes  of  Whitecraft — and  all  this  came  out  upon  his  trial, 
not  certainly  to  the  advantage  of  the  baronet — this  hardened 
and  treacherous  ruffian,  we  say,  who  had  been  a  scourge  to 
that  part  of  the  country  for  years,  now  felt,  when  the  verdict 
of  guilty  was  brought  in  against  him,  just  as  a  smith's  anvil 
might  feel  when  struck  by  a  feather.  On  hearing  it,  he 
growled  a  hideous  laugh,  and  exclaimed  : 

"  To  the  devil  I  pitch  you  all  ;  I  wish,  though,  that  I  had 
Tom  Bradley,  the  prophecy  man,  here,  who  tould  me  that 
I'd  never  be  hanged,  and  that  the  rope  was  never  born  for 
me." 

"  if  the  rope  was  not  born  for  you,"  observed  the  judge, 


WILLY  REILLY.  341 

"I  fear  I  shall  be  obliged  to  inform  you  that  you  were  born 
for  the  rope.  Your  life  has  been  an  outrage  upon  civilized 
society." 

"  Why,  you  ould  dog  ! "  said  the  Rapparee,  "  you  can't 
hang  me  ;  haven't  I  a  pardon?  didn't  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft 
get  me  a  pardon  from  the  government  for  turnin'  against  the 
Catholics,  and  tellin'  him  where  to  find  the  priests  ?  Why, 
you  joulter-headed  ould  dog,  you  can't  hang  me,  of  if  you  do, 
I'll  leave  them  behind  me  that  will  put  such  a  half  ounce  pill 
into  your  guts  as  will  make  you  turn  up  the  whites  of  your 
eyes  like  a  duck  in  tundher.  You'll  hang  me  for  robbery, 
you  ould  sinner  I  But  what  is  one  half  the  world  doin'  but 
robbin'  the  other  half .?  and  what  is  the  other  half  doin'  but 
robbin'  them  ?  As  for  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  if  he  desaved 
me  by  lies  and  falsehoods,  as  I'm  afraid  he  did,  all  I  say  is, 
that  if  I  had  him  here  for  one  minute  I'd  show  him  a  trick 
he'd  never  tell  to  mortal.     Now  go  on,  big-wig." 

Notwithstanding  the  solemnity  :>f  the  position  in  which 
this  obdurate  ruffian  was  placed,  le  judge  found  it  nearly 
impossible  to  silence  the  laughter  o  the  audience  and  pre- 
serve order  in  the  court.  At  lengti  he  succeeded,  and  con- 
tinued his  brief  address  to  the  Rapparee: 

'•  Hardened  and  impenitent  reprobate,  in  the  course  of  my 
judicial  duties,  onerous  and  often  painful  as  they  are  and 
have  been,  I  must  say  that,  although  it  has  fallen  to  my  lot  to 
pronounce  the  awful  sentence  of  death  upon  many  an  unfeel- 
ing felon,  I  am  bound  to  say  that  a  public  malefactor  so 
utterly  devoid  of  all  the  feelings  which  belong  to  man,  and  so 
strongly  impregnated  with  those  of  the  savage  animal  as  you 
are,  has  never  stood  in  a  dock  before  me,  nor  probably  before 
any  other  judge,  living  or  dead.  Would  it  be  a  waste  of  lan- 
guage to  enforce  upon  you  the  necessity  of  repentence.?  I 
fear  it  would  ;  but  it  matters  not ;  the  guilt  of  impenitence  be 
on  your  own  head,  still  I  must  do  my  duty  ;  try,  then,  and 
think  of  death,  and  a  far  more  awful  judgment  than  mine. 
Think  of  the  necessity  you  have  for  supplicating  mercy  at  the 
throne  of  your  Redeemer,  who  himself  died  for  you,  and  for 
all  of  us,  between  two  thieves." 

"That  has  nothing  to  do  with  my  case  ;  I.  never  was  a 
thief ;  I  robbed  like  an  honest  man  on  the  king's  highways  ; 
but  as  for  thievin',  why,  you  ould  sinner,  I  never  stole  a  far- 
thing s  worth  in  my  life.  Don't,  then,  pitch  such  beggarly  com- 
parisons into  my  teeth.  I  never  did  what  you  and  your  class 
often  did  ;  1   never  robbed  the   poor  in   the    name   of   the 


342 


WILL  V  REILL  Y. 


blessed  laws  of  the  land  ;  I  never  oppressed  the  widow  or 
the  orphan  ;  and  for  all  that  I  took  from  those  that  did  op- 
press them,  the  devil  a  grain  of  sorrow  or  repentance  I  feel 
for  it,  nor  ever  will  feel  for  it.  Oh  !  mother  of  Moses  !  if  I 
had  a  glass  of  whiskey  ! " 

The  judge  was  obliged  to  enforce  silence  a  second  time  ; 
for,  to  tell  the  truth,  there  was  something  so  ludicrously  im- 
penitent in  the  conduct  of  this  hardened  convict  that  the 
audience  could  not  resist  it,  especially  when  it  is  remembered 
that  the  sympathies  of  the  lower  Irish  are  always  with  such 
culprits. 

"  Well,"  continued  the  judge,  when  silence  was  again  re- 
stored, "your  unparalleled  obduracy  has  gained  one  point; 
It  was  my  intention  to  have  ordered  you  for  execution  to- 
morrow at  the  hour  of  twelve  o'clock  ;  but,  as  a  Christian 
man,  I  could  not  think  for  a  moment  of  hurrying  you  into 
■eternity  in  your  present  state.  The  sentence  of  the  court 
♦.hen  is,  that  you  be  taken  '^rom  the  dock  in  which  you  now 
■jtand  to  the  prison  fron  whence  you  came,  and  that  from 
^.hence  you  be  brought  to  .he  place  of  execution  on  next  Sat- 
urday, and  there  be  hang  id  by  the  neck  until  you  be  dead, 
ind  may  God  have  mercy  on  your  soul !  " 

The  Rapparee  gazed  at  him  with  a  look  of  the  most  hard- 
ened effrontery,  and  exclaimed,  "  Is  it  in  earnest  you  are  ?  " 
after  which  he  was  once  more  committed  to  his  cell,  loaded 
with  heavy  chains,  which  he  wore,  by  the  way,  during  his 
<;rial.  . 

Now,  in  order  to  account  for  his  outrageous  conduct,  we 
must  make  a  disclosure  to  the  reader.  There  is  in  and 
about  all  jails  a  certain  officer  yclept  a  hangman — an  officer 
ivho  is  permitted  a  freer  ingress  and  egress  than  almost  any 
other  person  connected  with  those  gloomy  establishments. 
This  hangman,  who  resided  in  the  prison,  had  a  brother 
whom  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  had  hanged,  and,  it  was  thought, 
innocently.  Be  this  as  it  may,  the  man  in  question  was  heard 
to  utter  strong  threats  of  vengeance  against  Sir  Robert  for 
having  his  brother,  whose  innocence  he  asserted,  brought  to 
execution.  In  some  time  after  this  a  pistol  was  fired  one 
night  at  Sir  Robert  from  behind  a  hedge,  which  missed  him  ; 
but  as  his  myrmidons  were  with  him,  and  the  night  was  light, 
a  pursuit  took  place,  and  the  guilty  wretch  was  taken  pris- 
oner, with  the  pistol  on  his  person,  still  warm  after  having 
been  discharged.  The  consequence  was  that  he  was  con- 
demned to  death.     But  it  so  happened  that  at  this  period, 


WILLY  REILLY. 


343 


although  there  were  five  or  six  executions  to  take  place,  yet 
tliere  was  no  hangman  to  be  had,  that  officer  having  died 
suddenly,  after  a  fit  of  liquor,  and  tlie  sheriff  would  have  been 
obliged  to  discharge  the  office  with  his  own  hands  unless  a 
finisher  of  the  law  could  be  found.  In  brief,  he  was  found, 
and  in  the  person  of  the  individual  alluded  to,  who,  in  con- 
sequence of  his  consenting  to  accept  the  office,  got  a  pardon 
from  the  Crown.  Now  this  man  and  the  Rapparee  had  been 
old  acquaintances,  and  renewed  their  friendship  in  prison. 
Through  the  means  of  the  hangman  O'Donnelgot  in  as  much 
whiskey  as  he  pleased,  and  we  need  scarcely  say  that  they 
often  got  intoxicated  together.  The  secret,  therefore,  which 
we  had  to  disclose  to  the  reader,  in  explanation  of  the  Rap- 
paree's  conduct  at  his  trial,  was  simply  this,  that  the  man 
was  three  quarters  drunk. 

After  trial  he  was  placed  in  a  darker  dungeon  than  be- 
fore; but  such  was  the  influence  of  the  worthy  executioner 
with  evefcy  officer  of  the  jail,  that  he  was  permitted  to  go 
either  in  or  out  without  search,  and  as  he  often  gave  a 
"slug,"  as  he  called  it,  to  the  turnkeys,  they  consequently 
allowed  him,  in  this  respect,  whatever  privileges  he  wished. 
Even  the  Rapparee's  dungeon  was  not  impenetrable  to  him, 
especially  as  he  put  the  matter  on  a  religious  footing,  to  wit, 
that  as  the  unfortunate  robber  was  not  allowed  the  spiritual 
aid  of  his  own  clergy,  he  himself  was  the  only  person  left 
to  prepare  him  for  death,  which  he  did  with  the  whiskey- 
bottle. 

The  assizes  on  that  occasion  were  protracted  to  an  un- 
usual length.  The  country  was  in  a  most  excited  state,  and 
party,  feeling  ran  fearfully  high.  Nothing  was  talked  of  but 
the  two  trials,  par  excellence,  to  wit,  that  of  Whitecraft  and 
Reilly;  and  scarcely  a  fair  or  market,  for  a  considerable 
time  previous,  ever  came  round  in  which  there  was  not  a 
battle  on  the  subject  of  either  one  or  the  other  of  them,  not 
unfrequenlly  of  both.  Nobody  was  surprised  at  the  convic- 
tion of  the  Red  Rapparee  ;  but,  on  the  contrary,  every  one 
was  glad  that  the  country  had  at  last  got  rid  of  him. 

Poor  Helen,  however,  was  not  permitted  to  remain  quiet, 
as  she  had  expected.  When  Mr.  Doldrum  had  furnished  the 
leading  counsel  with  his  brief  and  a  list  of  the  witnesses,  the 
latter  gentleman  was  surprised  to  see  the  name  of  Helen 
FoUiard  among  them. 

'•  How  is  this  ?  "  he  inquired;  "  is  not  this  the  celebrated 
Deauty  who  eloped  with  him  ?  " 


244  WILLY  RBILLY. 

"  It  is,  sir,"  replied  Doldrum. 

"But,"  proceeded  the  other,  "you  have  not  instructed  me 
in  the  nature  of  the  evidence  she  is  prepared  to  give." 

"  She  is  deeply  penitent,  sir,  and  in  a  very  feeble  state  of 
health  ;  so  much  so  that  we  were  obliged  to  leave  the  ten- 
dency of  her  evidence  to  be  brought  out  on  the  trial." 

"  Have  you  subpcenaed  her  ?  " 

"  No,  sir." 

"  And  why  not,  Mr,  Doldrum  ?  Don't  you  know  that  there 
is  no  understanding  the  caprices  of  women  ?  You  ought  to 
have  subpoenaed  her,  because,  if  she  be  a  leading  evidence, 
she  may  still  change  her  mind  and  leave  us  in  the  lurch." 

"  I  certainly  did  not  subpoena  her,"  replied  Doldrum, 
"  because,  when  I  mentioned  it  to  her  father,  he  told  me  that 
if  I  attempted  it  he  would  break  my  head.  It  was  enough, 
he  said,  that  she  had  given  her  promise — a  thing,  he  added, 
which  she  was  never  known  to  break." 

"  Go  to  her  again,  Doldrum  ;  for  unless  we  ^now  what 
she  can  prove  we  will  be  only  working  in  the  dark.  Try  her, 
at  all  events,  and  glean  what  you  can  out  of  her.  Her  father 
tells  me  she  is  somewhat  better,  so  I  don't  apprehend  you 
will  have  much  difficulty  in  seeing  her." 

Doldrum  did  see  her,  and  was  astonished  at  the  striking 
change  which  had,  in  so  short  a  time,  taken  place  in  her  ap- 
pearance. She  was  pale,  and  exhibited  all  the  symptoms  of 
an  invalid,  with  the  exception  of  her  eyes,  which  were  not 
merely  brilliant,  but  dazzling,  and  full  of  a  fire  that  flashed 
from  them  with  something  like  triumph  whenever  her  atten- 
tion was  directed  to  the  purport  of  her  testimony.  On  this 
subject  they  saw  that  it  would  be  quite  useless,  and  probably 
worse  than  useless,  to  press  her,  and  they  did  not,  consequent 
ly,  put  her  to  the  necessity  of  specifying  the  purport  of  her 
evidence. 

"  1  have  already  stated,"  said  she,  "  that  I  shall  attend 
the  trial  ;  that  ought,  and  must  be,  sufficieni  for  you.  I  beg, 
then,  you  will  witlidraw,  sir.  My  improved  health  will  ena- 
ble me  to  attend,  and  you  may  rest  assured  that  if  I  have  life 
I  shall  be  there,  as  I  have  already  told  you  ;  but,  I  say,  that 
if  you  wish  to  press  me  for  the  nature  of  my  evidence,  you 
shall  have  it,"  and,  as  she  spoke,  her  eyes  fiashed  fearfully, 
as  they  were  in  the  habit  of  doing  whenever  she  felt  deeply 
excited.  Folliard  himself  became  apprehensive  of  the  dan- 
ger which  might  result  from  the  discussion  of  any  subject  cal- 
culated to  disturb  her,  and  insisted  that  she  should  be  al- 


WILL  V  REILLE  Y.  3  45 

lowed  to  take  ner  own  way.  In  the  mean  time,  after  they  had 
left  her,  at  her  own  request,  her  father  informed  the  attorney 
that  she  was  getting  both  strong  and  cheerful,  in  spite  of  her 
looks. 

"  To  be  sure,"  said  he,  "  she  is  pale  !  but  that's  only  natu- 
ral, after  her  recent  slight  attack,  and  all  the  excitement  and 
agitation  she  has  for  some  time  past  undergone.  She  sings 
and  plays  now,  although  I  have  heard  neither  a  song  nor  a 
tune  from  her  for  a  long  time  past.  In  the  evening,  too,  she 
is  exceedingly  cheerful  when  we  sit  together  in  the  drawing- 
room  ;  and  she  laughs  more  heartily  than  I  ever  knew  her  to 
do  before  in  my  life.  Now,  do  you  think,  Doldrum,  if  she 
.was  breaking  her  heart  about  Reilly  that  she  would  be  in 
such  spirits  ?  " 

"  No,  sir ;  she  would  be  melancholy  and  silent,  and  would 
neither  sing,  nor  laugh,  nor  play  ;  at  least  I  felt  so  when  I 
was  in  love  with  ML-s  Swithers,  who  kept  me  in  a  state  of 
eqiiilibrium  for  better  than  two  years  ;  but  that  wasn't  the 
worst  of  it,  for  she  knocked  the  loyalty  clean  <>  :t  of  me  be- 
sides— indeed,  so  decidedly  so  that  I  never  once  sang  '  Lilli- 
bullero '  during  the  whole  period  of  my  attachment,  and  be 
hanged  to  her." 

"  And  what  became  of  her  ?  " 

"  Why,  she  married  my  clerk,  who  used  to  serve  my  love- 
letters  upon  her  ;  and  when  I  expected  to  come  in  by  execu- 
tion— that  is,  by  marriage — that  cursed  little  sheriff,  Cupid, 
made  a  return  of  nulla  bona.  She  and  Sam  Snivel — a  kind 
of  half  Puritan — entered  a  ///^appearance,  and  I  never  saw 
them  since ;  but  I  am  told  they  are  in  America.  From  what 
you  tell  me,  sir,  I  have  no  doubt  but  Miss  1*  Uiard  will  make 
a  capital  witness.  In  fact,  Reilly  ought  to  .eel  proud  of  the 
honor  of  being  hanged  by  her  evidence ;  she  will  be  a  host 
in  herself." 

We  have  already  stated  that  the  leading  council  against 
Reilly  had  succeeded  in  getting  his  trial  postponed  until  Miss 
Folliard  should  arrive  at  a  sufficient  state  of  health  to  appear 
against  him.  In  the  mean  time,  the  baronet's  trial,  which 
was  in  a  political,  indeed,  we  might  say,  a  national  point  of 
view,  of  far  more  importance  than  Reilly's,  was  to  come  on 
next  day.  In  the  general  extent  of  notoriety  or  fame,  Reilly 
had  got  in  advance — though  not  much — of  his  implacable 
rival.  The  two  trials  were,  in  fact,  so  closely  united  by  the 
relative  position  of  the  parties  that  public  opinion  was 
strangely  and  strongly  divided  between  them,     Railly  and 


346  WILL  Y  REILL  Y. 

his  Cooleen  Bawn  had,  by  the  unhappy  peculiarity  of  their 
fate,  excited  the  interest  of  all  the  youthful  and  loving  part 
of  society — an  interest  which  was  necessarily  reflected  upon 
Whitecraft,  as  Reilly's  rival,  independently  of  the  hold  which 
his  forthcoming  fate  had  upon  grave  and  serious  politicians. 
Reilly's  leading  counsel.  Fox,  a  man  of  great  judgment  and 
ability,  gave  it  as  his  opinion  that  in  consequence  of  the  ex- 
acerbated state  of  feeling  produced  against  the  Catholics  by 
the  prosecution  of  Whitecraft — to  appease  whom,  the  opinion 
went  that  it  was  insi'.tuted — it  seemed  unlikely  that  Reilly 
had  a  single  chance.  Had  his  trial,  he  said,  taken  place  prC' 
vious  to  that  of  Whitecraft's,  he  might  have  escaped  many  o( 
the  consequences  of  Whitecraft's  conviction  ;  but  now,  should 
the  latter  be  con\icted,  the  opposing  party  would  die  in  the 
jury-box  rather  than  let  Reilly  escape. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 


PREPARATIONS — JURY   OF   THE   OLDEN    TIME — THE   SCALES   OF 

JUSTICE. 

At  last  the  trial  came  on,  and  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  tne 
great  champion  of  Protestantism — a  creed  which  he  did  not 
believe — was  conducted  into  the  court-house  and  placed  in 
the  dock.  He  was  dressed  in  his  best  apparel,  in  order  to 
distinguish  himself  from  common  culprits,  and  to  give  this 
poor  external  evidence  of  his  rank,  with  a  hope  that  it  might 
tell,  to  a  certain  extent  at  least,  upon  the  feeling  of  the  jury. 
When  placed  in  the  dock,  a  general  buzz  and  oustle  agitated 
the  whole  court.  His  friends  became  alert,  and  whispered  to 
each  other  with  much  earnestness,  and  a  vast  number  of  them 
bowed  to  him,  and  shook  hands  with  him,  and  advised  him 
to  be  cool,  and  keep  up  his  spirits.  His  appearance,  how- 
ever, was  anything  but  firm  ;  his  face  was  deadly  pale,  his 
eyes  dull  and  cowardly,  his  knees  trembled  so  much  that  he 
was  obliged  to  support  himself  on  the  front  of  the  dock. 

At  length  the  trial  commenced,  and  the  case  having  been 
opened  by  a  young  lawyer,  a  tall,  intellectual-looking  man, 
about  the  middle  age,  of  pale  but  handsome  features,  and  an 
eye  of  singular  penetration  and  brilliancy,  rose  ;  and  after 
pulling  up  his  gown  at  the  shoulders,  and  otherwise  adjusting 


WILLY  REILLY.  347 

it,  proceeded  to  lay  a  statement  of  this  extraordinary  case 
before  the  jur}-. 

He  dwelt  upon  "the  pain  which  he  felt  in  contemplating 
a  gentleman  of  rank  and  vast  wealth  occupying  the  degraded 
position  of  a  felon,  but  not,  he  was  sorry  to  say,  of  a  common 
felon.  The  circumstances,  my  lord,  and  gentlemen  of  the 
jury,  which  have  brought  the  prisoner  before  you  this  day, 
involve  a  long  catalogue  of  crimes  that  as  far  transcend,  in 
the  hideousness  of  their  guilt,  the  offences  of  a  common  felon 
as  his  rank  and  position  in  life  do  that  of  the  humblest  villain 
who  ever  stood  before  a  court  of  justice. 

"The  position,  gentlemen,  of  this  country  has  for  a  long 
series  of  years  been  peculiar,  anomalous,  and  unhappy. 
Divided  as  it  is,  and  has  been,  by  the  bitter  conflict  between 
two  opposing  creeds  and  parties,  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at 
that  it  should  be  a  melancholy  scene  of  misery,  destitution, 
famine,  and  crime  ;  and,  unhappily,  it  presents  to  us  the 
frightful  aspect  of  all  these.  The  nature,  however,  of  the 
conflicts  between  those  creeds  and  parties,  inasmuch  as  it 
bears  upon  the  case  of  the  prisoner,  gentlemen,  who  nov/ 
stands  for  trial  and  a  verdict  at  your  hands,  is  such  as  forces 
me,  on  that  account,  to  dwell  briefly  upon  it.  In  doing  so,  I 
will  have  much,  for  the  sake  of  our  common  humanity,  to 
regret  and  to  deplore.  It  is  a  fundamental  principle,  gen- 
tlemen, in  our  great  and  glorious  Constitution,  that  the  para- 
mount end  and  object  of  our  laws  is  to  protect  the  person, 
the  liberty,  and  the  property  of  the  subject.  But  there  is 
something,  gentlemen,  still  dearer  to  us  than  either  liberty, 
person,  or  property ;  something  which  claims  a  protection 
from  those  laws  that  stamps  them  with  a  nobler  and  a  loftier 
character,  when  it  is  afforded,  and  weaves  them  into  the 
hearts  and  feelings  of  men  of  all  creeds,  when  this  divine 
mission  of  the  law  is  fulfilled.  I  allude,  gentlemen,  to  the 
inalienable  right  of  every  man  to  worship  God  freely,  and 
according  to  his  own  conscience — without  restraint — with 
out  terror — without  oppression,  and,  gentlemen  of  the  jury, 
without  persecution.  A  man,  or  a  whole  people,  worship  God, 
we  will  assume,  sincerely,  according  to  their  notions  of  what 
is  right,  and,  I  say,  gentlemen,  that  the  individual  who  {^erse- 
cutes  that  man,  or  those  people,  for  piously  worshipping  their 
Creator,  commits  blasphemy  against  the  Almighty — and 
stains,  as  it  were,  the  mercy  seat  with  blood. 

"  Gentlemen  of  the  jury,  let  me  ask  you  what  has  been  the 
state  and  condition   of  this  unhappy  and  distracted  country  ? 


348  WILL  Y  REILL  K 

I  have  mentioned  two  opposing  creeds,  and  consequently  two 
opposing  parties,  and  I  have  also  mentioned  persecution  j  but 
let  me  also  ask  you  again  on  which  side  has  the  persecution 
existed?  Look  at  your  Roman  Catholic  fellow-subjects,  and 
ask  yourselves  to  what  a  terrible  outburst  of  political  and  relig- 
ious vengeance  have  they  not  been  subjected  ?  But  it  is  said 
they  are  not  faithful  and  loyal  subjects,  and  that  they  detest 
the  laws.  Well,  let  us  consider  this — let  us  take  a  cursory 
view  of  all  that  the  spirit  and  operation  of  the  laws  have  left 
them  to  be  thankful  for — have  brought  to  bear  upon  them  for 
the  purpose,  w-e  must  suppose,  of  securing  their  attachment 
and  their  loyalty.  Let  us,  gentlemen,  calmly  and  solemnly, 
and  in  a  Christian  temper,  take  a  brief  glance  at  the  advan- 
tages which  the  free  and  glorious  spirit  of  the  British  Consti- 
tution has  held  out  to  them,  in  order  to  secure  their  allegiance. 
In  the  first  place,  their  nobles  and  their  gentry  have  been 
deprived  of  their  property,  and  the  right  of  tenure  has  been 
denied  even  to  the  people.  Ah,  my  lord,  and  gentlemen  of 
the  jury,  what  ungrateful  and  disloyal  miscreant  could  avoid 
loving  a  Constitution,  and  hugging  to  his  grateful  heart  laws 
which  showered  down  such  blessings  upon  him,  and  upon  all 
those  who  belong  to  a  creed  so  favored  .-•  But  it  would  seem 
to  have  been  felt  that  these  laws  had  still  a  stronger  claim 
upon  their  affections.  They  would  protect  their  religion  as 
they  did  their  pi  operty  ;  and  in  order  to  attach  them  still  more 
strongly,  they  shut  up  their  places  of  worship — they  proscribed 
and  banished  and  hung  their  clergy — they  hung  or  shot  the 
unfortunate  people  who  fled  to  worship  God  in  the  desert — in 
mountain  fastnesses  and  in  caves,  and  threw  their  dead  bodies 
to  find  a  tomb  in  the  entrails  of  the  birds  of  the  air,  or  the 
dogs  which  even  persecution  had  made  mad  with  hunger.  But 
again — for  this  pleasing  panorama  is  not  yet  closed, — the  happy 
Catholics,  who  must  have  danced  with  delight,  under  the 
privileges  of  such  a  Constitution,  were  depri\  ed  of  the  right 
to  occupy  and  possess  all  civil  offices — their  enterprise  was 
crushed — their  industry  made  subservient  to  the  rapacity  of 
their  enemies,  and  not  to  their  own  prosperity.  But  this  is 
far  from  being  all.  The  sources  of  knowledge — of  knowledge 
which  only  can  enlighten  and  civilize  the  mind,  prevent  crime, 
and  promote  the  progress  of  human  society — these  sources  of 
knowledge,  I  say,  were  sealed  against  them  ;  they  were  conse- 
quently left  to  ignorance,  and  its  inseparable  associate — vice. 
All  those  noble  principles  which  result  from  education,  and 
which  lead  youth  into  those  moral  footsteps  in  which  they 


WILLY  R2ILLY.  34g 

should  tread,  were  made  crinunal  in  the  Catholic  to  pursue, 
and  impossible  to  attain  :  and  having  thus  been  reduced  by 
ignorance  to  the  perpetration  of  tiiose  crimes  which  it  uni- 
formly produces — the  people  were  punished  for  that  which 
oppressive  laws  had  generated,  and  the  ignorance  which  was 
forced  upon  them  was  turned  into  a  penalty  and  a  persecu- 
tion. They  were  first  made  ignorant  by  one  Act  of  Parlia- 
ment, and  then  punished  by  another  for  those  crimes  which 
ignorance  produces. 

"  And  now,  my  lord,  and  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  it  remains 
for  me  to  take  another  view  of  the  state  and  condition  of  this 
wretched  country.  Perhaps  there  is  not  in  the  world  so 
hideously  a  penal  code  of  laws  as  that  which  appertains  to 
the  civil  and  religious  rights  of  our  unfortunate  Roman  Cath- 
olic countrymen.  It  is  not  that  this  code  is  fierce,  inhuman, 
unchristian,  barbarous,  and  Draconic,  and  conceived  in  a 
spirit  of  blood — because  it  might  be  all  this,  and  yet,  through 
the  liberality  and  benevolence  of  those  into  whose  hands  it 
ought  to  be  entrusted  for  administration,  nmch  of  its  dreadful 
spirit  might  be  mitigated.  And  I  am  bound  to  say  that  a 
large  and  important  class  of  the  Protestant  community  look 
upon  such  a  code  nearly  with  as  much  horror  as  the  CathoHcs 
themselves.  Unfortunately,  however,  in  every  state  of  society 
and  of  law  analogous  to  ours,  a  certain  class  of  men,  say 
rather  of  mons*:ers,  is  sure  to  spring  up,  as  it  were,  from  hell, 
their  throats  still  parched  and  heated  with  that  insatiable 
thirst  which  the  guilty  glutton  felt  before  them,  and  which 
they  now  are  determined  to  slake  with  b!ood„  For  some  of 
these  men  the  apology  of  selfishness,  an  anxiety  to  raise  them- 
selves out  of  the  struggles  of  genteel  poverty,  and  a  wolfish 
wish  to  earn  the  wages  of  oppression,  might  be  pleaded  ; 
although,  heaven  knows,  it  is  at  best  but  a  desperate  and 
cowardly  apology.  On  the  other  hand,  there  are  men  not 
merely  independent,  but  wealthy,  who,  imbued  with  a  fierce 
and  unreasoning  bigotry,  and  stained  by  a  black  and  un- 
scrupulous ambition,  start  up  into  the  front  ranks  of  persecu- 
tion, and  carry  fire  and  death  and  murder  as  they  go  along, 
and  all  this  for  the  sake  of  adding  to  their  reprobate  names 
a  title — a  title  earned  by  the  shedding  of  innocent  blood — a 
title  earned  by  the  oppression  and  persecution  of  their  unre- 
sisting fellow-subjects — a  title,  perh  ps  that  of  baromt ;  if  I  am 
mistaken  in  this,  the  individual  who  stands  before  you  in  that 
dock  could,  for  he  might,  set  me  right. 

"  In  fact,  who  are  those  who  have  lent   themselves   with 


35° 


WILL  Y  REfLL  V. 


such  delight  to  the  execution  of  bad  laws  ?  of  laws  that,  for 
the  sake  of  religion  and  Christianity,  never  ought  to  have 
been  enacted  ?  Are  they  men  of  moral  and  Christian  lives  ? 
men  whose  walk  has  been  edifying  in  the  sight  of  their  fel- 
lows ?  are  they  men  to  whom  society  could  look  up  as  exam- 
ples of  private  virtue  and  the  decorous  influence  of  religion  ? 
are  they  men  who,  on  the  Sabbath  of  God,  repair  with  their 
wives  and  families  to  his  holy  worship  ?  Alas  !  no.  These 
heroic  persecutors,  who  hunt  and  punish  a  set  of  disarmed 
men,  are,  in  point  of  fact,  not  only  a  disgrace  to  that  religion 
in  whose  name  they  are  persecutors,  and  on  whose  merciful 
precepts  they  trample,  but  to  all  religion,  in  whatever  light 
true  religion  is  contemplated.  Vicious,  ignorant,  profligate, 
licentious,  but  cunning,  cruel,  bigoted,  and  selfish,  they  make 
the  spirit  of  oppressive  laws,  and  the  miserable  state  of  the 
country,  the  harvest  of  their  gain.  Look  more  closely  at  the 
picture,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  and  make,  as  I  am  sure  you 
will,  the  dismal  and  terrible  circumstances  which  I  will  lay 
before  you  your  own.  Imagine  for  a  moment  that  those  who 
are  now,  or  at  least  have  been,  the  objects  of  hot  and  blood- 
scenting  persecution,  had,  by  some  political  revolution,  got 
the  power  of  the  State  and  of  the  laws  into  their  own  hands  ; 
suppose,  for  it  is  easily  supposed,  that  they  had  stripped  you 
of  your  property,  deprived  you  of  your  civil  rights,  disarmed 
you  of  the  means  of  self-defence,  persecuted  yourselves  and 
proscribed  your  religion,  or,  vice  versa,  proscribed  yourselves 
and  persecuted  your  religion,  or,  to  come  at  once  to  the  truth, 
proscribed  and  persecuted  both  ;  suppose  your  churches  shut 
up,  your  pious  clergy  banished,  and  that,  when  on  the  bed  of 
sickness  and  of  death,  some  of  your  family,  hearing  your  cries 
for  the  consolations  of  religion,  ventured  out,  under  the  clouds 
of  the  night,  pale  with  sorrow,  and  trembling  with  apprehen- 
sion, to  steal  for  you,  at  the  risk  of  life,  that  comfort  which 
none  but  a  minister  of  God  can  effectually  bestow  upon  the 
parting  spirit;  suppose  this,  and  suppose  that  your  house  is 
instantly  surrounded  by  some  cruel  but  plausible  Sir  Robert 
Whitecraft,  or  some  drunken  and  ruffianly  Captain  Smellpriest, 
who,  surrounded  and  supported  by  armed  miscreants,  not 
only  breaks  open  that  house,  but  violates  the  awful  sanctity  of 
the  deathbed  itself,  drags  out  the  minister  of  Christ  from  his 
work  of  mercy,  and  leaves  him  a  bloody  corpse  at  your  thresh- 
old. I  say,  change  places,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  and  suppose 
in  your  own  imaginations  that  all  those  monstrous  persecu- 
tions, all  those  murderous  and  flagitious  outrages,  had  beea 


WILLY  RETLLY.  351 

inflicted  upon  yourselves,  with  others  of  an  equally  nefarious 
character;  suppose  all  this, and' you  may  easily  do  so,  for  you 
have  seen  it  all  perpetrated  in  the  name  of  God  and  the  law, 
or,  to  say  the  truth,  in  the  hideous  union  of  mammon  and  mur- 
der ;  suppose  all  this,  and  you  will  feel  what  such  men  as  he 
who  stands  in  that  dock  deserves  from  humanity  and  natural 
justice  ;  for,  alas  !  I  cannot  say,  from  the  laws  of  his  country, 
under  the  protection  of  which,  and  in  the  name  of  which,  he 
and  those  who  resemble  him  have  deluged  that  country  with 
innocent  blood,  laid  waste  the  cabin  of  the  widow  and  the 
orphan,  and  carried  death  and  desolation  wherever  they  went. 
But,  gentlemen,  I  shall  stop  here,  as  I  do  not  wish  to  inflict 
unnecessary  pain  upon  you,  even  by  this  mitigated  view  of 
atrocities  which  have  taken  place  before  your  own  eyes  ;  yet 
I  cannot  close  this  portion  of  my  address  without  referring  to 
so  large  a  number  of  our  fellow-Protestants  with  pride,  as  I 
am  sure  their  Roman  Catholic  friends  do  with  gratitude. 
Who  were  those  who,  among  the  Protestant  party,  threw  the 
shield  of  their  name  and  influence  over  their  Catholic  neigh- 
bors and  friends  ?  Who,  need  I  ask  ?  The  pious,  the  hu- 
mane, the  charitable,  the  liberal,  the  benevolent,  and  the  en- 
lightened. Those  were  they  who,  overlooking  the  mere  the- 
ological distinctions  of  particular  docrines,  united  in  the  great 
and  universal  creed  of  charity,  held  by  them  as  a  common 
principle  on  which  they  might  meet  and  understand  and  love 
each  other.  And  indeed,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  there  cannot 
be  a  greater  proof  of  the  oppressive  spirit  which  animates  this 
penal  and  inhuman  code  than  the  fact  that  so  many  of  those, 
for  whose  benefit  it  was  enacted,  resisted  its  influence,  on  be- 
half of  their  Catholic  fellow-subjects,  as  far  as  they  could,  and 
left  nothing  undone  to  support  the  laws  of  humanity  against 
those  of  injustice  and  oppression.  When  the  persecuted 
Catholic  could  not  invest  his  capital  in  the  purchase  of  prop- 
erty, the  generous  Protestant  came  forward,  purchased  the 
proper1:y  in  his  own  name,  became  the  bona  fide  proprietor, 
and  then  transferred  its  use  and  advantages  to  his  Catholic 
friend.  And  again,  under  what  roof  did  the  hunted  Catholic 
priest  first  take  refuge  from  those  bloodhounds  of  persecution  ? 
In  most  cases  under  that  of  his  charitable  and  Christian 
brother,  the  Protestant  clergyman.  Gentlemen,  could  there 
be  a  bitterer  libel  upon  the  penal  laws  than  the  notorious 
facts  which  I  have  the  honor  of  stating  to  you  ? 

"  The  facts  which  have  placed  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  be- 
fore you  are  these,  and  in  detailing  them  I  feel  myself  placed 


35* 


WTLLY  REILLY. 


in  circumstances  of  great  difficulty,  and  also  of  peculiar  deli- 
cacy. The  discharge,  however,  of  a  public  duty,  which  de- 
volves upon  me  as  leading  law  officer  of  the  Crown,  forces 
me  into  a  course  which  I  cannot  avoid,  unless  I  should 
shrink  from  promoting  and  accomplishing  the  ends  of  public 
justice.  In  my  position,  and  in  the  discharge  of  my  solemn 
duties  here  to-day,  I  can  recognize  no  man's  rank,  no  man's 
wealth,  nor  the  prestige  of  any  man's  name.  So  long  as  he 
stands  at  that  bar,  charged  with  great  and  heinous  crimes,  I 
feel  it  my  duty  to  strip  him  of  all  the  advantages  of  his  birth 
and  rank,  and  consider  liim  simply  a  mere  subject  of  the 
realm. 

"  In  order  to  show  you,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  the  atiimus 
under  which  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  acted,  in  the  case  before 
us,  I  must  go  back  a  little — a  period  of  some  months.  At 
that  time  a  highly  respectable  gentleman  of  an  ancient  and 
honored  family  in  this  country  was  one  evening  on  his  way 
home  from  this  town,  attended,  as  usual,  by  his  servant.  At 
a  lonely  place  on  a  remote  and  antiquated  road,  which  they 
took  as  a  shorter  way,  it  so  happened  that,  in  consequence  of 
a  sudden  mist  peculiar  to  those  wild  moors,  they  lost  their 
path,  and  found  themselves  in  circumstances  of  danger  and 
distress.  The  servant,  however,  whistled,  and  his  whistle  was 
answered  ;  a  party  of  men,  of  freebooters,  of  robbers,  headed 
by  a  person  called  the  Red  Rapparee,  who  has  been  convict- 
ed at  these  assizes,  and  who  has  been  the  scourge  of  the 
country  for  years,  came  up  to  them,  and  as  the  Rapparee  had 
borne  this  respectable  gentleman  a  deadly  and  implacable 
enmity  for  some  time  past,  he  was  about  to  murder  both  mas- 
ter and  man,  and  actually  had  his  musket  levelled  at  him,  as 
others  of  his  gang  had  at  his  aged  servant,  when  a  person,  a 
gentleman  named  Reilly — [here  there  was  a  loud  cheer 
throughout  the  court,  which,  however  was  soon  repressed, 
and  the  Attorney-General  proceeded] — this  person  started 
out  from  an  old  ruin,  met  the  robber  face  to  face,«and,  in 
short,  not  only  saved  the  lives  of  the  gentleman  and  his  ser- 
vant, but  conducted  them  safely  home.  This  act  of  courage 
and  humanity,  by  a  Roman  Catholic  to  a  Protestant,  had  such 
an  effect  upon  the  old  gentleman's  daughter,  a  lady  whose 
name  has  gone  far  and  wide  for  her  many  virtues  and  won- 
derful beauty,  that  an  attachment  was  formed  between  the 
young  gentleman  and  her.  The  prisoner  at  the  bar,  gentle- 
men, was  a  suitor  for  her  hand  ;  but  as  the  young  and  amiable 
lady  was  acquainted  with  his  character  as  a  priest-hunter  and 


WillV  reillV.  35  j 

Jjefsecutor,  she,  though  herself  a  Protestant,  could  look  upon 
him  only  with  abhorrence.  At  all  events,  after  the  rescue  of 
her  father's  life,  and  her  acquaintance  with  Mr.  Reiliy,  the 
prisoner  at  the  bar  was  rejected  with  disdain,  as  he  would 
have  been,  it  seems,  if  Reiliy  never  had  existed.  Now,  gen- 
tlemen of  the  jury,  observe  that  Reiliy  was  a  Catholic,  which 
was  bad  enough  in  the  eyes  of  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  ;  but 
he  was  more  ;  he  was  a  rival,  and  were  it  not  for  the  state  of 
the  law,  would,  it  appears,  for  there  is  no  doubt  of  it  now, 
have  been  a  successful  oHe.  From  heticeforth  the  prisoner 
at  the  bar  marked  Mr.  Reiliy  for  vengeance,  for  destruction, 
for  death.  At  this  time  he  was  in  the  full  exercise  of  irre- 
sponsible authority  ;  he  could  burn,  hang,  shoot,  without  being 
called  to  account  ;  and  as  it  will  appear  before  you,  gentle- 
men, this  consciousness  of  impunity  stimulated  him  to  the 
perpetration  of  such  outrages  as,  in  civil  life,  and  in  a  country 
free  from  civil  war,  are  unparalleled  in  the  annals  of  crime 
and  cruelty. 

"  But,  gentlemen,  what  did  this  man  do  ?  this  man,  so 
anxious  to  preserve  the  peace  of  the  country ;  this  man,  the 
terror  of  the  surrounding  districts ;  what  did  he  do,  I  ask  ? 
Why,  he  took  the  most  notorious  robber  of  his  day,  the  fierce 
and  guilty  Rapparee — he  took  him  into  his  councils,  in  oicler 
that  he  might  enable  him  to  trace  the  object  of  his  vengeance, 
Reiliy,  in  the  first  place,  and  to  lead  him  to  the  hiding-. 
places  of  such  unfortunate  Catholic  priests  as  had  taken 
refuge  in  the  caves  and  fastnesses  of  the  mountains.  Instead 
of  punishing  this  notorious  malefactor,  he  took  him  into  his 
own  house,  made  him,  as  he  was  proud  to  call  them,  one  of 
his priest/wiinds,  and  induced  him  to  believe  that  he  had  pro- 
cured him  a  pardon  from  government.  Reilly's  name  he  had, 
by  his  foul  misrepresentations,  got  into  the  Huc-and-Cry,  and 
subsequently  had  him  gazetted  as  an  outlaw  ;  and  all  this 
upon  his  own  irresponsible  authority.  I  mention  nothing, 
gentlemen,  in  connection  with  this  trial  which  we  are  not  in 
a  capacity  to  prove. 

"  Having  forced  Reiliy  into  a  variety  of  disguises,  and 
hunted  him  like  a  mad  dog  through  the  country  ;  having 
searched  every  lurking-place  in  which  he  thought  he  might 
find  him,  he  at  length  resolved  on  the  only  course  of  ven- 
geance he  could  pursue.  He  surrounded  his  habitation,  and, 
after  searching  for  Reiliy  himself,  he  openly  robbed  him  of 
all  that  was  valuable  of  that  gentleman's  furniture,  then  set 
fire  to  the  house,  and  in  the  clouds  of  the  night  reduced   that 


354  WILL  Y  RE  ILL  Y. 

and  every  out-office  he  had  to  ashes — a  capital  felony.  It  so 
hap;:)ens,  however,  that  the  house  and  offices  were,  in  point  of 
fact,  not  the  property  of  Reilly  at  all,  but  of  a  most  respect- 
able Protestant  gentleman  and  magistrate,  Mr.  Hastings, 
with  whose  admirable  character  I  have  no  doubt  you  are  all 
acquainted;  and  all  that  remains  for  me  to  say  is,  that  he  is 
the  prosecutor  in  this  case. 

"  And  now,  gentlemen,  we  expect  a  calm,  deliberate,  and 
unbiassed  verdict  from  you.  Look  upon  the  prisoner  at  the 
bar  as  an  innocent  man  until  you  can,  with  a  clear  conscience, 
find  him  guilty  of  the  charges  which  we  are  in  a  condition  to 
prove  against  him  ;  but  if  there  be  any  doubt  upon  your 
minds,  1  hope  you  will  give  him  the  benefit  of  it." 

Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  in  fact,  had  no  defence,  and  could 
procure   no  witnesses  to  counteract  the  irresistible    body  of 
evidence  that  was  produced  against  him.     Notwithstanding 
all   this,    his   friends    calculated    upon    the    prejudices    of  a 
Protestant  jury.     His  leading  counsel  made  as  able  a  speech 
in  his  defence  as  could  be  made  under  the  circumstances.    It 
consisted,  however,  of  vague  generalities,  and  dwelt  upon  the 
state  of  the  country  and  the  necessity  that  existed  for  men  of 
great  spirit  and  Protestant  feeling  to  come   out  boldly,  and, 
by   courage    and    energy,   carry   the    laws   that    had  passed 
for   the  suppression  of  Popery  into  active    and    wholesome 
operation.     "Those  laws    were   passed  by  the    wisest    and 
ablest  assembly  of  legislators  in  the  world,  and  to  what  pur- 
pose  could  legislative  enactments   for   the    preservation    of 
Protestant  interests  be  passed  if  men  of  true  faith   and   loy- 
alty could  not  be  found  to  carry  them    into   effect.     There 
were  the  laws  ;  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  did   not   make   those 
laws,  and  if  he  was  invested  with  authority  to  carry  them  into 
operation,   what  did  he  do  but  discharge  a  wholesome  and 
important  duty  ?     The  country  was  admitted,  on  all   sides,  to 
be  in  a  disturbed  state  ;    Popery  was  attempting  for   years 
most  insidiously  to  undermine  the  Protestant  Church,  and  to 
sap  the  foundation  of  all  Protestant  interests  ;  and  if,  by  a 
pardonable  excess  of  zeal,  of  zeal  in  the  right  direction,  and 
unconscious  lapse  in  the  discharge  of  what  he  would  call, 
those  noble  but  fearful  duties  had  occurred,  was  it  for   those 
who  had  a  sense  of  true  liberty,  and  a  manly  detestation  of 
Romish  intrigue  at  heart,  to  visit  that  upon  the  head  of  a  true 
and  loyal  man  as  a  crime.     Forbid  it,  the  spirit  of  the  British 
Constitution — forbid    it,    heaven — forbid    it,    Protestautism. 
No,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,"  etc.,  etc. 


WTLL  y  RE  ILL  Y,  355 

We  need  not  go  further,  because  we  have  condensed  in 
the  few  sentences  given  the  gist  of  all  he  said. 

When  the  case  was  closed,  the  jury  retired  to  their  room, 
and  as  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft's  fate  depended  upon  their 
verdict,  we  will  be  kind  enough  to  avail  ourselves  of  the  oJ>en 
j^jvz;«(?  of  our  poor  imagination  to  introduce  our  readers  in- 
visibly into  the  jury-room. 

"  Now,"  said  the  foreman,  "  what's  to  be  done  ?  Are  we 
to  sacrifice  a  Protestant  Champion  to  Popery?" 

"  To  Popery!  To  the  deuce,"  replied  another.  "  It's  not 
Popery  that  is  prosecuting  him.  Put  down  Popery  by  argu- 
ment, by  fair  argument,  but  don't  murder  those  who  profess 
it,  in  cold  blood.  As  the  Attorney-General  said,  let  us  make 
it  our  own  case,  and  if  the  Papishes  treated  us  as  we  have 
treated  them,  what  would  v/e  say.?  By  jingo,  I'll  hang  that 
fellow.  He's  a  Protestant  champion,  they  say;  but  I  say  he's 
a  Protestant  bloodhound,  and  a  cowardly  rascal  to  boot." 

"  How  is  he  a  cowardly  rascal.  Bob  ?  Hasn't  he  proved 
himself  a  brave  man  against  the  Papishes  ?  eh?  " 

"  A  brave  man  !  deuce  thank  him  for  being  a  brave  man 
against  poor  devils  that  are  allowed  nothing  stouter  than  a 
horse-rod  to  defend  themselves  with — when  he  has  a  party  of 
well-armed  bloodhounds  at  his  back.  He's  the  worst  land- 
lord in  Ireland,  and,  above  all  things,  he's  a  tyrant  to  his 
Protestant  tenants,  this  champion  of  Protestantism.  Ay,  and 
fierce  as  he  is  against  Popery,  there's  not  a  Papish  tenant  on 
his  estate  that  he  is  not  like  a  father  to." 

"  And  how  the  deuce  do  you  know  that  ?  '* 

"  Because  I  was  head  bailiff  to  him  for  ten  years." 

*'  But  doesn't  all  the  world  know  that  he  hates  the  Papists, 
and  would  have  them  massacred  if  he  coukl  ?  " 

*'  And  so  he  does — and  so  he  would  ;  but  it's  al'  his  cow- 
ardice, because  he's  afraid  that  if  he  was  harsh  to  his  Popish 
tenants  some  of  them  might  shoot  him  from  behind  a  hedge 
some  fine  night,  and  give  him  a  leaden  bullet  for  his  supper." 

"  I  know  he's  a  coward,"  observed  another,  "  because  he 
allowed  himself  to  be  horsewhipped  by  Major  Bingham,  and 
didn't  call  him  out  for  it." 

"  Oh,  as  to  that,"  said  another,  "  it  was  made  up  by  their 
friends  ;  but  what's  to  be  done  ?  All  the  evidence  is  against 
him,  and  we  are  on  our  oaths  to  find  a  verdict  according  to 
the  evidence." 

"Evidence  be  hanged,"  said  another;  "I'll  sit  here  till 
doom's-day  before  I  find  him  guilty.     Are  we,  that  are  all 


356  WILL  Y  REILL  Y. 

loyal  Protestants,  to  bring  out  a  varjuice  to  please  the  Pa- 
pishes  ?  Oh,  no,  faith ;  but  here's  the  thing  gentlemen  ; 
mark  me ;  here  now,  I  take  off  my  shoes,  and  I'll  ait  them 
before  I  find  him  guilty;"  and  as  he  spoke  he  deliberately 
slipped  oiT  his  shoes,  and  placed  them  on  the  table,  ready  for 
his  tough  and  loyal  repast. 

"  By  Gog,"  said  another,  "  I'll  hang  him,  in  spite  of  vour 
teeth  ;  and,  afther  aiten  your  brogues,  you  may  go  barefooted 
if  you  like,  /have  brogues  to  ait  as  well  as  you,  and  one  of 
mine  is  as  big  as  two  of  yours." 

This  was  followed  by  a  chorus  of  laughter,  after  which 
they  began  to  consider  the  case  before  them,  like  admirable 
and  well-reasoning  jurors,  as  they  were.  Two  hours  passed 
in  wrangling  and  talking  and  recriminating,  when,  at  last, 
one  of  them,  striking  the  table,  exclaimed  with  an  oath  : 

"  All  Europe  won't  save  the  villain.  Didn't  he  seduce  my 
sister's  daughter,  and  then  throw  her  and  her  child  back,  with 
shame  and  disgrace,  on  the  family,  without  support  ?  " 

"  Look  at  that,"  said  the  owner  of  the  shoe,  holding  it  up 
triumphantly  ;  "that's  my  supper  to-night,  and  my  argument 
in  his  defence.  I  say  our  Protestant  champion  musn't  hang, 
at  least  until  I  starve  first." 

The  other,  who  sat  opposite  to  him,  put  his  hand  across 
the  table,  and  snatching  the  shoe,  struck  its  owner  between 
the  two  eyes  with  it  and  knocked  him  back  on  the  floor.  A 
scene  of  uproar  took  place,  which  lasted  for  some  minutes 
but  at  length,  by  the  influence  of  the  foreman,  matters  were 
brought  to  a  somewhat  amicable  issue.  In  this  way  the} 
spent  the  time  for  a  few  hours  more,  when  one  of  the  usual 
messengers  came  to  know  if  they  had  agreed  ;  but  he  was 
instantly  dismissed  to  a  very  warm  settlement,  with  the  assur- 
ance that  they  had  not. 

"  Come,"  said  one  of  them,  pulling  out  a  pack  of  cards, 
"  let  us  amuse  ourselves  at  any  rate.  Who's  for  a  hand  at 
tlie  Spoil  Five  ?" 

The  cards  were  looked  upon  as  a  godsend,  and  in  a  few 
moments  one  half  the  jury  were  busily  engaged  at  that  inter- 
esting game.  The  other  portion  of  them  amused  themselves, 
in  the  mean  time,  as  well  as  they  could. 

"  Tom,"  said  one  of  them,  "  were  you  ever  on  a  special 
jury  in  a  revenue  case.!*  " 

"  No,"  replied  Tom,  "  never.     Is  there  much  fun  ? " 

"The  devil's  own  fun  ;  because  if  wejindiox  the  defend- 
ant, he's  sure  to  give  us  a  splendid  feed.  But  do  you  know 
how  we  manage  when  wp  find  wa  caa't  agree  ?  " 


WILLY  REILLY.  357 

"  No.     How  is  it  ?  " 

"  Why,  you  see,  when  the  case  is  too  clear  against  him, 
and  that  to  find  for  him  would  be  too  barefaced,  we  get  every 
man  to  mark  down  on  a  slip  of  paper  the  least  amount  of 
damages  he  is  disposed  to  give  against  him ;  when  they're  all 
down,  we  tot  them  up,  and  divide  by  twelve — "  * 

"  Silence,"  said  another,  "  till  we  hear  John  Dickson's 
song." 

The  said  John  Dickson  was  at  the  time  indulging  them 
with  a  comic  song,  which  was  encored  with  roars  of  laughter. 

"Hallo!"  shouted  one  of  those  at  the  cards,  "here's 
Jack  Brereton  has  prigged  the  ace  of  hearts." 

"  Oh,  gentlemen."  said  Jack,  who  was  a  greater  knave  at 
the  cards  than  any  in  the  pack,  "  upon  my  honor,  gentlemen, 
you  wrong  me." 

"  There — he  has  dropped  it,"  said  another  ;  "  look  under 
the  table." 

The  search  was  made,  and  up  was  lugged  the  redoubtable 
ace  of  hearts  from  under  one  of  Jack's  feet,  who  had  hoped, 
by  covering  it,  to  escape  detection.  Detected,  however,  he 
was,  and,  as  they  all  knew  him  well,  the  laughter  was  loud 
accordingly,  and  none  of  them  laughed  louder  than  Jack 
himself. 

"  Jack,"  said  another  of  them,  "  let  us  have  a  touch  of  the 
legerdemain." 

"Gentlemen,  attention,"  said  Jack.  "Will  any  of  you 
lend  me  a  halfpenny?  " 

This  was  immediately  supplied  to  him,  and  the  first  thing 
he  did  was  to  stick  it  on  his  forehead — although  there  had 
been  brass  enough  there  before — to  which  it  appeared  to 
have  been  glued  ;  after  a  space  he  took  it  off  and  placed  it 
in  the  palm  of  his  right  hand,  which  he  closed,  and  then,  ex- 
tending both  his  hands,  shut,  asked  those  about  him  in  which 
hand  it  was.  Of  course  they  all  said  in  the  right;  but,  upon 
Jack's  opening  the  said  hand,  there  was  no  halfpenny  there. 

In  this  way  they  discussed  a  case  of  life  or  death,  until 
another  knock  came,  which  "  knock"  received  the  same  an- 
swer as  before. 

"  Faith,"  said  a  powerful-looking  farmer  from  near  the 
town  of  Boyle — the  very  picture  of  health,  "  if  they  don't  soon 
let  us  out  I'll  get  sick.  It's  I  that  always  does  the  sickness 
for  the  jury  when  we're  kept  in  too  long." 

•  By  no  means  an  uncommoii  proceeding  in  revenue  cases,  even  ^t  the  present  day 


358  WILL  V  REILL  Y. 

•'  Why,  then,  Billy  Bradley,"  asked  one  of  them.  "  how 
could  you,  of  all  men  living,  sham  sickness  on  a  doctor  V* 

"  Because,"  said  Billy,  with  a  grin,  "  I'm  beginning  to 
feel  a  divarsion  of  blood  to  the  head,  for  want  of  a  beefsteak 
and  a  pot  o' porther.  My  father  and  grandfather  both"  died 
of  a  divarsion  of  blood  to  the  head." 

"  I  rather  think,"  observed  another,  "  that  they  died  by 
taking  their  divarsion  at  the  beefsteak  and  the  pot  of  porter." 

"  No  matther,"  said  Billy,  "  they  died  at  all  events,  and  so 
will  we  all,  plaise  God." 

"  Come,"  said  one  of  them,  "  there  is  Jack  Brereton  and 
his  cane — let  us  come  to  business.  What  do  you  say,  Jack, 
as  to  the  prisoner?  " 

Jack  at  the  time  had  the  aforesaid  cane  between  his  legs, 
over  which  he  was  bent  like  a  bow,  with  the  head  of  it  in  his 
mouth. 

"  Are  you  all  agreed  ? "  asked  Jack. 

"  All  for  a  verdict  of  guilty,  with  the  exception  of  this 
fellow  and  his  shoes.  " 

Jack  Brereton  was  a  handsome  old  fellow,  with  a  red  face 
and  a  pair  of  watery  eyes  ;  he  was  a  little  lame,  and  hirpled 
as  he  walked,  in  consequence  of  a  hip  complaint,  which  he 
got  by  a  fall  from  a  jaunting-car ;  but  he  was  now  steady 
enough,  except  the  grog. 

"Jack,  what  do  you  say  ?  "  asked  the  foreman  ;  '*  it's  time 
to  do  something." 

"  Why,"  replied  Jack,  "  the  scoundrel  engaged  me  to  put 
down  a  pump  for  him,  and  I  did  it  in  such  a  manner  as  was 
a  credit  to  his  establishment.  To  be  sure,  he  wanted  the 
water  to  come  whenever  it  was  asked  ;  but  I  told  him  that 
that  wasn't  my  system  ;  that  I  didn't  want  to  make  a  good 
thing  too  cheap  ;  but  that  the  water  would  come  in  genteel 
time — that  is  to  say,  whenever  they  didn't  want  it ;  and  'aith 
the  water  bore  me  out."  And  here  Jack  laughed  heartilv. 
"  But  no  matter,"  proceeded  Jack,  "he's  only  a  biijeeti ;  sure 
it  was  his  mother  nursed  me.  Where's  that  fellow  that's 
going  to  eat  his  shoes?  Here,  Ned  W^ilson,  you  flaming 
Protestant,  I  have  neither  been  a  grand  juror  nor  a  petty 
juror  of  the  county  of  Sligo  for  nothing.  Where  are  you  ? 
Take  my  cane,  place  it  between  your  knees  as  you  saw  me 
do,  put  your  mouth  down  to  the  head  of  it,  suck  up  with  all 
3'our  strength,  and  you'll  find  that  God  will  give  you  sense 
afterwards." 

Wilson,  who  had  taken  such  a  fancy  for  eating  his  shoes, 


WILLY  REILLY. 


359 


in  order  to  show  his  loyalty,  was  what  Is  called  a  hard-goer^ 
and  besides  a  great  friend  of  Jack's.  At  all  events,  he  fol- 
lowed his  advice — put  the  head  of  the  huge  cane  into  his 
mouth,  and  drew  up  accordingly.  The  cane,  in  fact,  was 
hollow  all  through,  and  contained  about  three  half-pints  of 
strong  whiskey.  There  was  some  wrangling  with  the  man 
for  a  little  time  after  this;  but  at  length  he  approached  Jack, 
and  handing  him  the  empty  cane,  said  : 

"  What's  your  opinion,  Jack  ?  " 

"  Why,  we  must  hang  him,"  replied  Jack.  *'  He  defrauded 
me  in  the  pump  ;  and  I  ask  you  did  you  ever  put  your  nose 
to  a  better  pump  than  ihat?""  * 

"  Give  me  your  hand,  Jack,  we're  agreed — he  swings!  " 

At  this  moment  an  ofBcer  came  to  ask  the  same  question, 
when,  in  reply,  the  twelve  jurymen  came  out,  and,  amidst  the 
most  profound  silence,  the  foreman  handed  down  the  issue 
paper  to  the  Clerk  of  the  Crown, 

*'  Gentlemen,"  said  that  oflficer,  after  having  cast  his  eye 
over  it,  "have  you  agreed  in  your  verdict?" 

"  We  have." 

"  Is  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  guilty,  or  not  guilty?" 

"Guilty!" 

Let  us  pause  here  a  moment,  and  reflect  upon  the  precari- 
ous tenure  of  life,  as  it  is  frequently  affected  by  such  scenes 
as  the  above,  in  the  administration  of  justice.  Here  was  a 
criminal  of  the  deepest  dye,  shivering  in  the  dock  with  the 
natural  apprehension  of  his  fate,  but  supported,  notwith- 
standing, by  the  delay  of  the  jury  in  coming  to  a  verdict. 
He  argued  reasonably  enough,  that  in  consequence  of  that 
very  delay  he  must  necessarily  have  friends  among  them  who 
would  hold  out  to  the  last.  The  state  of  suspense,  however, 
in  which  he  was  held  must  have  been,  and  was,  dreadful.  His 
lips  and  throat  became  parched  by  excitement,  and  he  was 
obliged  to  drink  three  or  four  glasses  of  water.  Being  unable 
to  stand,  he  was  accommodated  with  a  chair,  on  which,  while 
he  sat,  the  perspiration  flowed  from  his  pallid  face.  Yet,  with 
the  exception  of  his  own  clique,  there  was  scarcely  an  indi- 
vidual present  who  did  not  hope  that  this  trial  wouid  put  an 
end  to  his  career  of  blood.  After  all,  there  was  something  of 
the  retributive  justice  of  Providence  even  in  the  conduct  and 

•  We  have  been  taken  to  task  about  this  description  of  the  jury-room^  but  we  be- 
lieve, and  have  good  reason  to  believe,  that  every  circumstance  mentioned  in  it  is  a  fact 
Do  our  readers  remember  the  histnry  of  Ori's  trial,  where  three  fourths  of  the  jurors  wh» 
convicted  him  were  drunk — a  fact  to  which  they  tliemselves  confirmed  upon  oath  after- 
wards ? 


360  WILLY  RETLLY 

feelings  of  the  jury  ;  for,  in  point  of  fact,  it  was  more  on  ac- 
count of  his  private  crimes  and  private  infamy  that  they, 
however  wrongly,  brought  in  their  verdict.  Here  was  he, 
encircled  by  their  knowledge  of  his  own  iniquities,  apart  from 
his  public  acts  ;  and  there,  standing  in  that  dock,  from  which 
he  might  have  gone  out  free,  so  far  as  regarded  his  political 
exploits,  he  found,  although  he  did  not  know  it,  the  black 
weight  of  his  private  vices  fall  upon  his  head  in  the  shape  of 
the  verdict  just  delivered.  It  would  be  impossible  to  describe 
his  appearance  on  hearing  it  ;  his  head  fell  down  upon  his 
breast  listless,  helpless,  and  with  a  character  of  despair  that 
was  painful  to  contemplate. 

When  the  verdict  was  handed  down,  the  judge  immedi- 
ately put  on  the  black-cap  ;  but  VVhitecraft's  head  was  rest- 
ing on  his  breast,  and  he  did  not  for  some  time  see  it.  At 
length,  stirred  into  something  like  life  by  the  accents  of  the 
judge,  he  raised  his  head  with  an  effort.  The  latter  ad- 
dressed him  as  thus : 

"Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  you  have  been  convicted  this  day 
by  as  enlightened  a  jury  as  ever  sat  in  a  jury-box.  You  must 
be  aware  yourself,  by  the  length  of  time,  and  consequently 
the  deep  and  serious  investigation  which  they  bestowed — and, 
it  is  evident,  painfully  bestowed — upon  your  unhappy  case, 
that  your  conviction  is  the  deliberate  result  of  their  conscien- 
tious opinion.  It  is  obvious,  as  I  said,  from  the  length  of 
time  occupied  in  the  jury-room,  that  the  evidence  in  your 
case  was  sifted  closely,  and  canvassed  with  the  abilitv  and 
experience  of  able  and  honest  men.  In  the  verdict  they 
have  returned  the  Court  perfectly  concurs  ;  and  it  now  only 
remains  for  me  to  pass  upon  you  that  awful  sentence  of  the 
law  which  is  due  to  your  cruel  life  and  flagitious  crimes. 
Were  you  a  man  without  education,  nurtured  in  ignorance, 
and  the  slave  of  its  debasing  consequences,  some  shade  of 
compassion  might  be  felt  for  you  on  that  account.  But  you 
cannot  plead  this;  you  cannot  plead  poverty,  or  that  neces- 
sity which  urges  many  a  political  adventurer  to  come  out  as  a 
tyrant  and  oppressor  upon  his  fellow-subjects,  under  the 
shield  of  the  law,  and  in  the  corrupt  expectation  of  reward  or 
promotion.  You  were  not  only  independent  in  your  own 
circumstances,  but  you  possessed  great  wealth  ;  and  why  you 
should  shape  yourself  such  an  awful  course  of  crime  can  only 
be  attributed  to  a  heart  naturally  fond  of  persecution  and 
blood.  I  cannot,  any  more  than  the  learned  Attorney-Gen- 
eral, suffer  the  privileges  of  rank,  wealth,  or  position  to  sway 


W/LL  y  REIL  LY.  36 1 

me  from  the  firm  dictates  of  justice.  You  imagined  that  the 
law  would  connive  at  you — and  it  did  so  too  long,  but,  believe 
me,  the  sooner  or  later  it  will  abandon  the  individual  that 
has  been  provoking  it,  and,  like  a  tiger  when  goaded  beyond 
patience,  will  turn  and  tear  its  victim  to  pieces.  It  remains 
for  me  now  to  pronounce  the  awful  sentence  of  the  law  upon 
you  ,  but  before  1  do  so,  let  me  entreat  you  to  turn  your 
heart  to  that  Being  who  will  never  refuse  mercy  to  a  repent- 
ant sinner  ;  and  1  press  this  upon  you  the  more  because  you 
need  not  entertain  the  slightest  expectation  of  finding  it  in 
this  world.  In  order,  therefore,  that  you  may  collect  and 
compose  your  mind  for  the  great  event  that  is  before  you,  I 
will  allow  you  four  days,  in  order  that  you  may  make  a 
Christian  use  of  your  time,  .aid  prepare  your  spirit  for  a 
greater  tribunal  than  this.  The  sentence  of  the  Court  is 
that,  on  the  fifth  day  after  this,  you  be,  etc.,  etc.,  etc.,  and 
may  God  have  mercy  on  your  :     il  !  " 

At  first  there  was  a  dead  silence  in  the  court,  and  a  por- 
tion of  the  audience  was  taken  completely  by  sur(3rise  on 
hearing  both  the  verdict  and  the  sentence.  At  length  a 
deep,  condensed  murmur,  which  rose  by  degrees  into  a  yell 
of  execration,  burst  forth  from  his  friends,  whilst,  on  the 
other  hand,  a  peal  of  cheers  and  acclamations  rang  so  loudly 
through  the  court  that  they  completely  drowned  the  indig- 
nant vociferations  of  the  others.  In  the  mean  time  silence 
was  restored,  and  it  was  found  that  the  convict  had  been 
removed  during  the  confusion  to  one  of  the  condemned 
cells.  What  now  were  his  friends  to  do  ?  Was  it  possible 
to  take  any  steps  by  which  he  might  yet  be  saved  from  such 
a  disgraceful  death  ?  Pressed  as  they  were  for  time,  they 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  the  only  chance  existing  in  his 
favor  was  for  a  deputation  of  as  many  of  the  leading  Prot- 
estants of  the  county,  as  could  be  prevailed  upon  to  join  in 
the  measure,  to  proceed  to  Dublin  without  delay.  Imme- 
diately, therefore,  after  the  trial,  a  meeting  of  the  baronet's 
friend's  was  held  in  the  head  inn  of  Sligo,  where  the  matter 
was  earnestly  discussed.  Whitecraft  had  been  a  man  of  pri- 
vate and  solitary  enjoyments — in  social  and  domestic  life,  as 
cold,  selfish,  inhospitable,  and  repulsive  as  he  was  cruel 
and  unscrupulous  in  his  public  career.  The  consequence 
was  that  he  had  few  personal  friends  of  either  rank  or  influ- 
ence, and  if  the  matter  had  rested  upon  his  own  personal 
character  and  merits  alone,  he  would  have  been  left,  with- 
put  an  effort,  to   the   fate    which   had    that   day  been   pro- 


362  WILL  Y  RE  ILL  Y. 

nounced  upon  him.  The  consideration  of  the  matrer,  how- 
ever, was  not  confined  to  himself  as  an  individual,  but  to 
the  Protestant  party  at  large,  and  his  conviction  was  looked 
upon  as  a  Popish  triumph.  On  this  account  many  persons 
of  rank  and  influence,  who  would  not  otherwise  have  taken 
any  interest  in  his  fate,  came  forward  for  the  purpose,  if 
possible,  of  defeating  the  Popish  party — who,  by  the  way, 
had  nothing  whatsoever  to  do  in  promoting  his  conviction 
— and  of  preventing  the  stigma  and  deep  disgrace  which  his 
execution  would  attach  to  their  own.  A  very  respectable 
deputation  was  consequently  formed,  and  in  the  course  of 
the  next  day  pioceeded  to  Dublin,  to  urge  their  claims  in 
his  favor  with  the  Lord  Lieutenant.  This  nobleman,  though 
apparently  favorable  to  the  Catholic  people,  was  neverthe- 
less personally  and  secretly  a  bitter  enemy  to  them.  The 
state  policy  which  he  was  instructed  and  called  upon  to  ex- 
ercise in  their  favor  differed  toto  ccelo  from  his  own  impres 
sions.  He  spoke  to  them,  however,  sweetly  and  softly, 
praised  them  for  their  forbearance,  and  made  large  promises 
in  their  favor,  whilst,  at  the  same  time,  he  entertained  no 
intention  of  complying  with  their  request. 

The  deputation,  on  arriving  at  the  castle,  ascertained,  to 
their  mortification,  that  the  viceroy  would  not  be  at  home 
until  the  following  day,  having  spent  the  last  week  with  a 
nobleman  in  the  neighborhood  ;  they  were  consequently 
obliged  to  await  his  arrival.  After  his  return  they  were  ad- 
mitted to  an  audience,  in  which  they  stated  their  object  in 
waiting  upon  him,  and  urged  with  great  earnestness  the 
necessity  of  arresting  the  fate  of  such  a  distinguished  Protes- 
tant as  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  :  after  which  they  entered  into 
a  long  statement  of  the  necessity  that  existed  for  such  active 
and  energetic  men  in  the  then  peculiar  and  dangerous  state 
of  the  country. 

To  all  this,  however,  he  replied  with  great  suavity,  assur- 
ing them  that  no  man  felt  more  anxious  to  promote  Protes- 
tant interests  than  he  did,  and  added  that  the  relaxation  of 
the  laws  against  the  Catholics  was  not  so  much  the  result  of 
his  o'"n  personal  policy  or  feeling  as  the  consequence  of 
the  instruciions  he  had  received  from  the  English  cabinet. 
He  would  be  very  glad  to  comply  with  the  wishes  of  the 
deputation  if  he  could,  but  at  present  it  was  impossible. 
This  man's  conduct  was  indefensible;  for,  not  content  in 
carrying  out  the  laws  agaii^st  the  Catholics  with  unnecessary 
rigor,  he  committed  a  mou:  ;rous  outrage   against  a  French 


WILL  V  REILL  Y.  363 

subject  of  distinction,  in  consequence  of  whicli  the  French 
court,  through  their  ambassador  in  London,  insisted  upon  his 
punishment, 

"  Very  well,  my  lord,"  replied  the  spokesman  of  the  depu- 
tation, "  I  beg  to  assure  you,  that  if  a  hair  of  this  man's 
head  is  injured  there  will  be  a  massacre  of  the  Popish  popu- 
lation before  two  months ;  and  I  beg  also  to  let  you  know, 
for  the  satisfaction  of  the  English  cabinet,  that  they  may 
embroil  themselves  with  France,  or  get  into  whatever  politi- 
cal embarrassment  they  please,  but  an  Irish  Protestant  will 
never  hoist  a  musket,  or  draw  a  sword,  in  their  defence. 
Gentlemen,  let  us  bid  his  Excellency  a  good-morning." 

This  was  startling  language,  as  the  effect  proved,  for  it 
startled  the  viceroy  into  a  compliance  with  their  wishes, 
and  they  went  home  post-haste,  in  order  that  the  pardon 
might  arrive  in  time. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

RUMOR  OF    COOLEEN  BAWN'S   TREACHERY HOW  IT   APPEARS — 

REILLY  STANDS  HIS  TRIAL CONCLUSION. 

Life,  they  say,  is  a  life  of  trials,  and  so  may  it  be  said 
of  this  tale — at  least  of  the  conclusion  of  it ;  for  we  feel  that 
it  devolves  upon  us  once  more  to  solicit  the  presence  of  our 
readers  to  the  same  prison  in  which  the  Red  Rapparee  and 
Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  received  their  sentence  of  doom. 

As  it  is  impossible  to  close  the  mouth  or  to  silence  the 
tongue  of  fame,  so  we  may  assure  our  readers,  as  we  have 
before,  that  the  history  of  the  loves  of  those  two  celebrated 
individuals,  to  wit,  Willy  Reilly  and  the  far-famed  Cookeii 
Bawn,  had  given  an  interest  to  the  coming  trial  such  as  was 
never  known  within  the  memory  of  man,  at  that  period,  nor 
perhaps  equalled  since.  The  Red  Rapparee,  Sir  Robert 
Whitecraft,  and  all  the  other  celebrated  villains  of  that  time, 
have  nearly  perished  out  of  tradition  itself,  whilst  those  of 
our  hero  and  heroine  are  still  fresh  in  the  feelings  of  the 
Connaught  and  Northern  peasantry,  at  whose  hearths,  dur- 
ing the  winter  evenings,  the  rude  but  fine  old  ballad  that 
commemorated  that  love  is  still  sung  with  sympathy,  and 
sometimes,    as   we   can    testify,  with  tears.     This   is   fame. 


364  WILLY  Ah li-LV. 

One  circumstance,  however,  which  deepened  the  interest  felt 
by  the  people,  told  powerfully  against  the  consistency  of  the 
Cooleen  Baivn.,  which  was,  that  she  had  resolved  to  come 
forward  that  day  to  bear  evidence  against  her  lover.  Such 
was  the  general  impression  received  from  her  father,  and  the 
attorney  Doldrum,  who  conducled  the  trial  against  Reilly, 
although  our  readers  are  well  aware  that  on  this  point  they 
spoke  without  authority.  The  governor  of  the  prison,  on 
going  that  morning  to  conduct  him  to  the  bar,  said  : 

"  I  am  sorry,  Mr.  Reilly,  to  be  the  bearer  of  bad  news  ; 
but  as  the  knowledge  of  it  may  be  serviceable  to  you  or  your 
lawyers,  I  think  I  ought  to  mention  it  to  you." 

"  Pray,  what  is  it.''  "  asked  Reilly. 

"  Why,  sir,  it  is  said  to  be  a  fact  that  the  Cooleen  Bawn 
has  proved  false  and  treacherous,  and  is  coming  this  day  to 
bear  her  testimony  against  you." 

Reilly  replied,  with  a  smile  of  confidence,  which  the  dark- 
ness of  the  room  prevented  the  other  from  seeing,  "  Well, 
Mr.  O'Shaughnessy,  even  if  she  does,  it  cannot  be  helped ; 
have  you  heard  what  the  nature  of  her  evidence  is  likely  to 
be?" 

"  No ;  it  seems  her  father  and  Doldrum  the  attorney 
asked  her,  and  she  would  not  tell  them  ;  but  she  said  she  had 
made  her  mind  up  to  attend  the  trial  and  see  justice  done. 
Don't  be  cast  down,  Mr.  Reilly,  though,  upon  my  soul,  I 
think  she  ought  to  have  stood  it  out  in  your  favor  to  the 
last." 

"  Come,"  said  Reilly,  "  I  am  ready  ;  time  will  tell,  Mr. 
O'Shaughnessy,  and  a  short  time  too,  a  few  hours  now,  and 
all  will  know  the  result." 

"  I  hope  in  God  it  may  be  in  your  favor,  Mr.  Reilly." 

"Thank  you,  O'Shaughnessy;  lead  on;  I  am  ready  to 
attend  you." 

The  jail  was  crowded  even  to  suffocatiovi  ;  but  this  wa.^ 
not  all.  The  street  opposite  the  jail  was  nearly  as  much 
crowded  as  the  jail  itself,  a  moving,  a  crushing  mass  of 
thousands  having  been  collected  to  abide  and  hear  the  issue. 
It  was  with  great  difficulty,  and  not  without  the  aid  of  a 
strong  military  force,  that  a  way  could  be  cleared  for  the 
judge  as  he  approached  the  prison.  The  crowd  was  silent 
and  passive,  but  in  consequence  of  the  report  that  the  Coo- 
leen Bmvti  was  to  appear  against  Reilly,  a  profound  melan- 
chnlyand  an  expression  of  deep  sorrow  seemed  to  brood  over 
W.     immediately  after  the  judge's  carriage  came  that  of  the 


WILLY  REILLY.  36$ 

squire,  who  was  accompanied  by  his  daughter,  Mrs.  Brown, 
and  Mrs.  Hastings,  for  Helen  had  insisted  that  her  father 
should  procure  their  attendance.  A  private  room  in  the 
prison  had,  by  previous  arrangement,  been  prepared  for  them, 
and  to  this  they  were  conducted  by  a  back  way,  so  as  to  avoid 
the  crushing  of  the  crowd.  It  was  by  this  way  also  that  the 
judge  and  lawyers  entered  the  body  of  the  court-house,  with- 
out passing  through  the  congregated  mass. 

At  length  the  judge,  having  robed  himself,  took  his  seat 
on  the  bench,  and,  on  casting  his  eye  over  the  court-house, 
was  astonished  at  the  dense  multitude  that  stood  before  him. 
On  looking  at  the  galleries,  he  saw  that  they  were  crowded 
with  ladies  of  rank  and  fashion.  Everything  having  been 
now  ready,  the  lawyers,  each  with  his  brief  before  him,  and 
each  with  a  calm,  but  serious  and  meditative  aspect,  the  Clerk 
of  the  Crown  cried  out,  in  a  voice  which  the  hum  of  the  crowd 
rendered  necessarily  loud  : 

"  Mr.  Jailer,  put  William  Reilly  to  the  bar." 
At  that  moment  a  stir,  a  murmur,  especially  among  the 
ladies  in  the  gallery,  and  turning  of  faces  in  the  direction 
of  the  bar,  took  place  as  Reilly  came  forward  and  stood 
erect  in  front  of  the  judge.  The  very  moment  he  made  his 
appearance  all  eyes  were  fastened  on  him,  and  whatever  the 
prejudices  may  have  been  against  the  Cooleen  Baw7i  for  fall- 
ing in  love  with  a  Papist,  that  moment  of  his  appearance 
absolved  her  from  all — from  everything.  A  more  noble  or 
majestic  figure  never  stood  at  that  or  any  other  bar.  In  the 
very  prime  of  manhood,  scarcely  out  of  youth,  with  a  figure 
like  that  of  Antinous,  tall,  muscular,  yet  elegant,  brown  hair 
of  the  richest  shade,  a  lofty  forehead,  features  of  the  most 
manly  cast,  but  exquisitely  formed,  and  eyes  which,  but  for 
the  mellow  softness  of  their  expression,  an  eagle  mighi  have 
envied  for  their  transparent  brillancy.  The  fame  of  his 
love  for  the  Cooleen  Bawn  had  come  before  him.  The  judge 
surveyed  him  with  deep  interest ;  so  did  every  eye  that  could 
catch  a  view  of  his  countenance  ;  but,  above  all,  were  those 
in  the  gallery  riveted  upon  him  with  a  degree  of  interest — 
and,  now  that  they  had  seen  him,  of  sympathy — which  we 
shall  not  attempt  to  describe.  Some  of  them  were  so  deeply 
affected  that  they  could  not  suppress  their  tears,  which,  by 
the  aid  of  their  handkerchiefs,  they  endeavored  to  conceal  as 
well  as  they  could.  Government,  in  this  case,  as  it  was  not 
one  of  political  interest,  did  not  prosecute.  A  powerful  bar 
was  retained  against  Reilly,  but  an  equally  powerful  one  was 


T^e6  WILL  Y  REILL  Y. 

engaged  for  him,  the  leading  lawyer  being,  as  we  have  stated, 
the  celebrated  advocate  Fox,  the  Curran  of  his  day. 

The  charge  against  him  consisted  of  only  two  counts — that 
of  robbing  Squire  Folliard  of  famly  jewels  of  immense  value, 
and  that  of  running  away  with  his  daughter,  a  ward  of 
Chancery,  contrary  to  her  consent  and  inclination,  and  to  the 
laws  in  that  case  made  and  provided. 

The  first  witness  produced  was  the  sheriff — and,  indeed, 
to  state  the  truth,  a  very  reluctant  one  was  that  humane 
gentleman  on  the  occasion.  Having  been  sworn,  the  leading 
counsel  proceeded  : 

"  You  are  the  sheriff  of  this  county  ? " 

"  I  am." 

"  Are  you  aware  that  jewelry  to  a  large  amount  was 
stolen  recently  from  Mr.  Folliard  ?  " 

"  I  am  not," 

"  You  are  not  ?  Now,  is  it  not  a  fact,  of  which  you  were 
an  eye-witness,  that  the  jewelry  in  question  was  found 
upon  the  person  of  the  prisoner  at  the  bar,  in  Mr.  Folliard's 
house?  " 

"  I  must  confess  that  I  saw  him  about  to  be  searched,  and 
that  a  very  valuable  case  of  jewelry  was  found  upon  his 
person." 

"  Yes,  found  upon  his  person — a  very  valuable  case  of 
jewelry,  the  property  of  Mr.  Folliard,  found  upon  his  person  \ 
mark  that,  gentlemen  of  the  jury." 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  the  sheriff,  "  I  saw  jewelry  found 
upon  him  ;  but  I  cannot  say  on  my  oath  whether  it  belonged 
to  Mr.  Folliard  or  not ;  all  I  can  say  is,  that  Mr.  Folliard 
claimed  the  jewels  as  his." 

"  As  his — just  so.  Nobody  has  a  better  right  to  claim 
them  then  the  person  to  whom  they  belonged.  What  took 
place  on  the  occasion  ?  " 

"  Why,  Mr.  Folliard,  as  I  said,  claimed  them,  and  Mr. 
Reilly  refused  to  give  them  up  to  him." 

"  You  hear  that,  gentlemen — refused  to  surrender  him  the 
property  of  which  he  had  robbed  him,  even  in  his  own 
house." 

"  And  when  you  searched  the  prisoner  }  " 

"We  didn't  search  him;  he  refused  to  submit  to  a 
search." 

"Refused  to  submit  to  a  search !  No  wonder,  I  think  I 
But,  at  the  time  he  refused  to  submit  to  a  search,  had  he  the 
jewelry  upon  his  person  .-'  " 


tVILL  Y  REILL  Y.  367 

«  He  had." 

"  He  had  ?  You  hear  that,  gentlemen — at  the  time  he 
refused  to  be  searched  he  had  the  jewelry  upon  his  person." 

The  sheriiT  was  then  cross-examined  by  Fox,  to  the  fol- 
lowing effect ; 

"  Mr.  Sheriff,  have  you  been  acquainted,  or  are  you  ac- 
quainted with  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  I  have  known  him  for  about  three  years — almost 
ever  since  he  settled  in  this  county." 

"  What  is  your  opinion  of  him  ?  " 

"  My  opinion  of  him  is  very  high." 

"  Yes — your  opinion  of  him  is  very  high,"  with  a  signifi- 
cant glance  at  the  jury — "  I  believe  it  is,  and  I  believe  it 
ought  to  be.  Now,  upon  your  oath,  do  you  believe  that  the 
prisoner  at  the  bar  is  capable  of  the  theft  or  robbery  imputed 
to  him  ?  " 

"  I  do  not." 

"  You  do  not  ?  What  did  he  say  when  the  jewels  were 
found  upon  him  ?  " 

"  He  refused  to  surrender  them  to  Mr.  Folliard  as  hav- 
ing no  legal  claim  upon  them,  and  refused,  at  first,  to  place 
them  in  any  hands  but  Miss  FoUiard's  own  ;  but  on  under- 
standing that  she  was  not  in  a  state  to  receive  them  from  him, 
he  placed  them  in  mine." 

"  Then  he  considered  that  they  were  Miss  FoUiard's  per- 
sonal property,  and  not  her  father's  ?  " 

"  So  it  seemed  to  me  from  what  he  said  at  the  time." 

"That  will  do,  sir  ;  you  may  go  down." 

"  Alexander  Folliard  1  "  and  the  father  then  made  his  ap- 
pearance on  the  table  ;  he  looked  about  him,  with  a  restless 
eye,  and  appeared  in  a  state  of  great  agitation,  but  it  was 
the  agitation  of  an  enraged  and  revengeful  man.  He  turned 
his  eyes  upon  Reilly,  and  exclaimed  with  bitterness  :  "  There 
you  are,  Willy  Reilly,  who  have  stained  the  reputation  of  my 
child,  and  disgraced  her  family." 

"Mr.  Folliard,"  said  his  lawyer,  "you  have  had  in  your 
possession  very  valuable  family  jewels." 

"  I  had." 

"  Whose  property  were  they  ?  " 

"  Why,  mine,  I  should  think.'* 

"Could  you  identify  them  ?  " 

"Certainly  I  could." 

"  Are  these  the  jewels  in  question  ?  " 

The  old  man  put  on  his  spectacles,  and  examined  them 
closely. 


368  WILLY  kEiLLY. 

"  They  are  ;  I  know  every  one  of  them." 

"  They  were  stolen  from  you  ?  " 

"  They  were." 

"  On  whose  person,  after  having  been  stolen,  were  they 
found  ?  " 

"On  the  person  of  the  prisoner  at  the  bar" 

"  You  swear  that  ?  " 

"  I  do ;  because  I  saw  him  take  them  out  of  his  pocket 
in  my  own  house  after  he  had  been  made  prisoner  and  de- 
tected." 

"  Then  they  are  your  property  ?  " 

"  Certainly — I  consider  them  my  property ;  who  else's 
property  could  they  be." 

"  Pray,  is  not  your  daughter  a  minor  ?  " 

"  She  is." 

"  And  a  ward  in  the  Court  of  Chancery?  " 
.     "  Yes." 

"That  will  do,  sir." 

The  squire  was  then  about  to  leave  the  table,  when  Mr. 
Fox  addressed  him  : 

"  Not  yet,  Mr,  Folliard,  if  you  please  ;  you  swear  the 
jewels  are  yours  ?  " 

"  I  do  ;  to  whom  else  should  they  belong?  " 

"  Are  you  of  opinion  that  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  robbed 
you  of  them  ?  " 

"I  found  them  in  his  possession." 

"  And  you  now  identify  them  as  the  same  jewels  which 
you  found  in  his  possession  }  " 

"  Hang  it,  haven't  I  said  so  before  ?  " 

"  Pray,  Mr.  Folliard,  keep  your  temper,  if  you  please,  and 
answer  me  civilly  and  as  a  gentleman.  Suffer  me  to  ask  you 
are  there  any  other  family  jewels  in  your  possession  ?  " 

"  Yes,  the  Folliard  jewels." 

"  The  Folliard  jewels  !  And  how  do  they  diffei-  in  denom- 
ination from  those  found  upon  the  prisoner.^" 

"Those  found  upon  the  prisoner  are  called  the  Bingham 
jewels,  from  the  fact  of  my  wife,  who  was  a  Bingham,  having 
brought  them  into  our  family." 

"  And  pray,  did  not  your  wife  always  consider  those  jew- 
els as  her  own  private  property  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  believe  she  did." 

"  And  did  she  not,  at  her  death-bed,  bequeath  those  very 
jewels  to  her  daughter,  the  present  Miss  Folliard.  on  the  con- 
dition that  s/ic^  too  should  consider  them  as  htx private  prop- 
erty 'i  " 


WILL  Y  RE  ILL  Y.  3  69 

"Why,  I  believe  she  did  ;  indeed,  I  am  sure  of  it,  because 
I  was  present  at  the  time." 

*'  In  what  part  of  the  house  were  those  jewels  deposited  ?  '* 

"  In   a  large   oak   cabinet  that  stands  in  a  recess  in  my 
library." 

"  Did  you  keep  what  you  call  the  Folliard  jewels  there  ? " 

"  Yes,  all  our  jewelry  was  kept  there." 

"  But    there    was    no   portion    of    the    Folliard    jewelry 
touched  ? " 

"  No ;  but  the  Bingham  sets  were  all  taken,  and  all  found 
upon  the  prisoner." 

"What  was  your  opinion  of  the  prisoner's  circum- 
stances ?  " 

"  I  could  form  no  opinion  about  them." 

"Had  he  not  the  reputation  of  being:  an  independent 
man?" 

"  I  believe  such  was  the  impression." 

"In  what  style  of  life  did  he  live  1 " 

"  Certainly  in  the  style  of  a  gentleman." 

"  Do  you  think,  then,  that  necessity  was  likely  to  tempt  a 
man  of  independence  like  him  to  steal  your  daughter's 
jewels  ? " 

"  I'd  advise  you,  Sergeant  Fox,  not  to  put  me  out  of  tem- 
per ;  I  haven't  much  to  spare  just  now.  What  the  deuce  are 
you  at  1 " 

"  Will  you  answer  my  question  .?'* 

"  No,  I  don't  think  it  was." 

"  If  the  Bingham  jewelry  had  been  stolen  by  a  thief,  do 
you  think  that  thief  would  have  left  the  Folliard  jewelry  be- 
hind him  }  " 

"I'll  take  my  oath _jw/  wouldn't,  if  you  had  been  in  the 
place  of  the  person  that  took  them.  You'd  have  put  the 
Bingham  jewelry  in  one  pocket,  and  balanced  it  with  the 
Folliard  in  the  other.  But,"  he  added,  after  a  slight  pause, 
"  the  villain  stole  from  me  a  jewel  more  valuable  and  dearer 
to  her  father's  heart  than  all  the  jewelry  of  the  universal 
world  put  together.  He  stole  my  child,  my  only  child,"  and 
as  he  spoke  the  tears  ran  slowly  down  his  cheeks.  The  court 
and  spectators  were  touched  by  this,  and  Fox  felt  that  it  was 
a  point  against  them.  Even  he  himself  was  touched,  and 
saw  that,  with  respect  to  Reilly's  safety,  the  sooner  he  got  rid 
of  the  old  man,  for  the  present  at  least,  the  better. 

"  Mr.  Folliard,"  said  he,  "  you  may  withdraw  now.  Your 
daughter  loved,  as  what  woman  has  not?     There  stands  the 


37° 


WILLY  REILLY. 


object  of  her  affections,  and  I  appeal  to  your  own  feelings 
whether  any  living  woman  could  be  blamed  for  loving  such  a 
man.     You  may  go  down,  sir,  for  the  present." 

The  prosecuting  counsel  then  said  :  '*My  lord,  we  produce 
Miss  Folliard  herself  to  bear  testimony  against  this  man. 
Crier,  let  Helen  Folliard  be  called." 

Now  was  the  moment  of  intense  and  incredible  interest. 
There  was  the  far-famed  beauty  herself,  to  appear  against 
her  manly  lover.  The  stir  in  the  court,  the  expectation,  the 
anxiety  to  see  her,  the  stretching  of  necks,  the  pressure  of 
one  over  another,  the  fervor  of  curiosity,  was  such  as  the 
reader  may  possibly  conceive,  but  such  certainly  as  we  can- 
not attempt  to  describe.  She  advanced  from  a  side  door, 
deeply  veiled  ;  but  the  tall  and  majestic  elegance  of  her  fig- 
ure not  only  struck  all  hearts  with  admiration,  but  prepared 
them  for  the  inexpressible  beauty  with  which  the  whole  king- 
dom rang.  She  was  assisted  to  the  table,  and  helped  into  the 
witness's  chair  by  her  father,  who  seemed  to  triumph  in  her 
appearance  there.  On  taking  her  seat,  the  buzz  and  murmur 
of  the  spectators  became  hushed  into  a  silence  like  that  of 
death,  and,  until  she  spoke,  a  feather  might  have  been  heard 
falling  in  the  court. 

"  Miss  Folliard,"  said  the  judge,  in  a  most  respectful 
voice,  "  you  are  deeply  veiled — but  perhaps  you  are  not 
aware  that,  in  order  to  give  evidence  in  a  court  of  justice, 
your  veil  should  be  up ;  will  you  have  the  goodness  to  raise 
it.?" 

Deliberately  and  slowly  she  raised  it,  as  the  court  had 
desired  her — but,  oh!  what  an  effulgence  of  beauty,  what 
wonderful  brilliancy,  what  symmetry,  what  radiance,  what 
tenderness,  what  expression  ! 

But  we  feel  that  to  attempt  the  description  of  that  race, 
which  almost  had  divinity  stamped  upon  it,  is  beyond  all  our 
powers.  The  whole  court,  every  spectator,  man  and  woman, 
all  for  a  time  were  mute,  whilst  their  hearts  drank  in  the 
delicious  draught  of  admiration  which  such  beauty  created. 
After  having  raised  her  veil,  she  looked  around  the  court  with 
a  kind  of  wonder,  after  which  her  eyes  rested  on  Reilly,  and 
immediately  her  lids  dropped,  for  she  feared  that  she  had  done 
wrong  in  looking  upon  him.  This  made  many  of  those  hearts 
who  were  interested  in  his  fate  sink,  and  wonder  why  such 
treachery  should  be  associated  with  features  that  breathed 
only  of  angelic  gcodness  and  liumanity. 

"  Miss  Folliard,"  said  the  leading  counsel  engaged  against 


WILL  V  REILL  Y.  371 

Reilly,  "  I  am  happy  to  hear  that  you  regret  some  past  occur- 
rences that  took  place  with  respect  to  you  and  the  prisoner 
at  the  bar  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  replied,  in  a  voice  that  was  melody  itself,  "  I 
do  regret  them." 

Fox  kept  his  eye  fixed  upon  her,  after  which  he  whispered 
something  to  one  or  two  of  his  brother  lawyers  ;  they  shook 
their  heads,  and  immediately  set  themselves  to  hear  and  note 
her  examination. 

"  Miss  Folliard,  you  are  aware  of  the  charges  which  have 
placed  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  of  justice  and  his  country .?  " 

"  Not  exactly ;  I  have  heard  fittle  of  it  beyond  the  fact  of 
his  incarceration," 

"  He  stands  there  charged  with  two  very  henious  crimes, 
— -one  of  them,  the  theft  or  robbery  of  a  valuable  packet  of 
jewels,  your  father's  property." 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  replied,  "  they  are  my  own  exclusive  prop- 
erty— not  my  father's.  They  were  the  property  of  my  dear 
mother,  who,  on  her  death-bed,  bequeathed  them  to  me,  in 
the  presence  of  my  father  himself  ;  and  I  always  considered 
them  as  mine." 

"  But  they  were  found  upon  the  person  of  the  prisoner  ? " 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  but  that  is  very  easily  explained.  It  is  no 
secret  now,  that,  in  order  to  avoid  a  marriage  which  my  father 
was  forcing  on  me  with  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  I  chose  the 
less  evil,  and  committed  myself  to  the  honor  of  Mr.  Reilly. 
If  I  had  not  done  so  I  should  have  committed  suicide,  I  think, 
rather  than  marry  Whitecraft — a  man  so  utterly  devoid  of 
principle  and  delicacy  that  he  sent  an  abandoned  female  into 
my  father's  house  in  the  capacity  of  my  maid  and  also  as  a 
spy  upon  my  conduct." 

This  astounding  fact  created  an  immense  sensation 
throughout  the  court,  and  the  lawyer  who  was  examining  her 
began  to  feel  that  her  object  in  coming  there  was  to  give  evi- 
dence in  favor  of  Reilly,  and  not  against  him.  He  determined, 
however,  to  try  her  a  little  farther,  and  proceeded  : 

"  But,  Miss  Folliard,  how  do  you  account  for  the  fact  of 
the  Bingham  jewels  being  found  upon  the  person  of  the 
prisoner  .'' " 

"  It  is  the  simplest  thing  in  the  world,"  she  replied.  "I 
brought  my  own  jewels  with  me,  and  finding,  as  we  proceeded, 
that  I  w.is  likely  to  lose  them,  having  no  pocket  sufficiently 
safe  in  which  to  carry  them,  I  asked  Reilly  to  take  charge  of 
them,  which  he  did.     Our  unexpected  capture,  and  the  conse- 


372 


WILLY  REILLY. 


quent  agitation,  prevented  him  from  returning  them  to  me, 
and  they  were  accordingly  found  upon  his  person  ;  but,  as 
for  stealing  them,  he  is  just  as  guilty  as  his  lordship  on  the 
bench." 

"  Miss  Folliard,"  proceeded  the  lawyer,  "you  have  taken 
us  by  surprise  to-day.  How  does  it  happen  that  you  volun- 
teered your  evidence  against  the  prisoner,  and,  now  that  you 
have  come  forward,  every  word  you  utter  is  in  his  favor  ? 
Your  mind  must  have  recently  changed — a  fact  which  takes 
very  much  away  from  the  force  of  that  evidence.'' 

"  I  pray  you,  sir,  to  understand  me,  and  not  suffer  your- 
self to  be  misled.  I  never  stated  that  I  was  about  to  come 
here  to  give  evidence  against  Mr.  Reilly  ;  but  I  said,  when 
strongly  pressed  to  come,  that  I  would  come,  and  see  justice 
done.  Had  they  asked  me  my  meaning,  I  would  have  in- 
stantly told  them  ;  because,  I  trust,  I  am  incapable  of  false- 
hood ;  and  I  will  say  now,  that  if  my  life  could  obtain  that 
of  William  Reilly,  I  would  lay  it  willingly  down  for  him,  as 
I  am  certain  he  would  lay  down  his  for  the  preservation  of 
mine." 

There  was  a  pause  here,  and  a  murmur  of  apj.  bation  ran 
through  the  court.  The  opposing  counsel,  too,  found  that 
they  had  been  led  astray,  and  that  to  examine  her  any  fur- 
ther would  be  only  a  weakening  of  their  own  cause.  They 
attached,  however,  no  blame  of  insincerity  to  her,  but  visited 
with  much  bitterness  the  unexpected  capsize  which  they  had 
got,  on  the  stupid  head  of  Doldrum,  their  attorney.  They 
consequently  determined  to  ask  her  no  more  questions, 
and  she  was  about  to  withdraw,  when  Fox  rose  up,  and 
said  : 

"  Miss  Folliard,  I  am  counsel  for  the  prisoner  at  the  bar, 
and  I  Irusl  you  will  answer  me  a  few  questions.  I  perceive, 
madam,  that  you  are  fatigued  of  this  scene  ;  but  the  ques- 
tions that  I  shall  put  to  you  will  be  few  and  britf.  An  attach- 
ment has  existed  for  some  time  between  you  and  the  pris- 
oner at  the  bar?  You  need  not  be  ashamed,  madam,  to 
reply  to  it." 

"  1  am  Jiot  ashamed,"  she  replied  proudly,  "  and  it  is 
true." 

"Was  your  father  aware  of  that  attachment  at  anytime?  " 

"  He  was,  from  a  very  early  period." 

"  Pray,  how  did  he  discover  it  ?  " 

"  I  myself  told  him  of  my  love  for  Reilly." 

"  Did  your  father  give  his  consent  to  that  attachment  ?  ** 


W/LL  Y  REILL  Y. 


373 


•*  Conditionally  he  did." 

"And  pray,  Miss  Folliard,  what  were  the  conditions  ?  " 

*'That  Reilly  should  abjure  his  creed,  and  then  no  fur- 
ther obstacles  should  stand  in  the  way  of  our  union,  he 
said." 

"Was  ever  that  proposal  mentioned  to  Reilly .''  " 

"Yes,  I  mentioned  it  to  him  myself  ;  but,  well  as  he  loved 
me,  he  would  suffer  to  go  into  an  early  grave,  he  said,  sooner 
than  abandon  his  religion  ;  and  I  loved  him  a  thousand  times 
better  for  his  noble  adherence  to  it." 

"  Did  he  not  sa^e  yonr father  s  lifcV 

*'  He  did,  and  the  life  of  a  faithful  and  attached  old  servant 
at  the  same  time." 

Now,  although  this  fact  was  generally  known,  yet  the  state- 
ment of  it  here  occasioned  a  strong  expression  of  indignation 
against  the  man  who  could  come  forward  and  prosecute  the 
individual,  to  whose  courage  and  gallantry  he  stood  indebted 
for  his  escape  from  murder.  The  uncertainty  of  Folliard's 
character,  however,  was  so  well  known,  and  his  whimsical 
changes  of  opinion  such  a  matter  of  proverb  among  the  people, 
that  many  persons  said  to  each  other  : 

"The  cracked  old  squire  is  in  one  of  his  tantrums  now; 
he'll  be  a  proud  man  if  he  can  convict  Reilly  to-day  ;  and 
perhaps  to-morrow,  or  in  a  month  hence,  he'll  be  cursing  him- 
self for  what  he  did — for  that's  his  wa}'." 

"  Well,  Miss  Folliard,"  said  Fox,  "we  will  not  detain  you 
any  longer  ;  this  to  you  must  be  a  painful  scene ;  you  may 
retire,  madam." 

She  did  not  immediately  withdraw,  but  taking  a  green  silk 
purse  out  of  her  bosom,  she  opened  it,  and,  after  inserting 
her  long,  white,  taper  fingers  into  it,  she  brought  out  a  valu- 
able emerald  ring,  and  placing  it  in  the  hands  of  the  crier,  she 
said  : 

"Give  that  ring  to  the  prisoner:  I  know  not,  William," 
she  added,  "  whether  I  shall  ever  see  you  again  or  not.  It 
may  so  happen  that  this  is  the  last  time  my  eyes  can  ever  rest 
upon  you  with  love  and  sorrow."  Here  a  few  bright  tears 
ran  down  her  lovely  cheeks.  "  If  you  should  be  sent  to  a 
far-off  land,  wear  this  for  the  sake  of  her  who  appreciated 
your  virtues,  your  noble  spirit,  and  your  pure  and  disinter- 
ested love  ;  look  upon  it  when,  perhaps,  the  Atlantic  may 
roll  between  us,  and  when  you  do,  think  of  your  Cooleen 
Bawn,  and  the  love  she  bore  you ;  but  if  a  still  unhappier 
fate  should  be  yours,  let  it  be  placed  with  you  in  your  grave, 


374 


WILL  V  REILL  Y. 


and  next  that  heart,  that  noble  heart,  that  refused  to  sacrifice 
your  honor  and  your  religion  even  to  your  love  for  me  1  will 
now  go." 

There  is  nothing  so  brave  and  fearless  as  innocence.  Her 
youth,  the  majesty  of  her  beauty,  and  the  pathos  of  her  ex- 
pressions, absolutely  flooded  the  court  with  tears.  The  judge 
wept,  and  hardened  old  barristers,  with  hearts  like  the  nether 
millstone,  were  forced  to  put  their  handkerchiefs  to  their  eyes  ; 
but  as  they  felt  that  it  might  be  detrimental  to  their  profes- 
sional characters  to  be  caught  weeping,  they  shaded  off  the 
pathos  under  the  hypocritical  pretence  of  blowing  their  noses. 
The  sobs  from  the  ladies  in  the  gallery  were  loud  and  vehe- 
ment, and  Reilly  himself  was  so  deeply  moved  that  he  felt 
obliged  to  put  his  face  upon  his  hands,  as  he  bent  over  the 
bar,  in  order  to  conceal  his  emotion.  He  received  the  ring 
with  moist  eyes,  kissed  it,  and  placed  it  in  a  small  locket 
which  he  put  in  his  bosom. 

"  Now,"  said  the  Coolcen  Bawfi,  *'  I  am  ready  to  go."' 
She  was  then  conducted  to  the  room  to  which  we  have 
alluded,  where  she  met  Mrs.  Brown  and  Mrs.  Hastings,  bolh 
of  whom  she  found  !n  tears — for  they  had  been  in  the  gallery, 
and  witnessed  all  that  had  happened.  They  both  embraced 
her  tenderly,  and  attempted  to  console  her  as  well  as  they 
could  ;  but  a  weight  like  death,  she  said,  pressed  upon  her 
heart,  and  she  begged  them  not  to  distract  her  by  their  sym- 
pathy, kind  and  generous  as  she  felt  it  to  be,  but  to  allow  her 
to  sit,  and  nurture  her  own  thoughts  until  she  could  hear  the 
verdict  of  the  jury.  Mrs.  Hastings  returned  to  the  gallery, 
and  arrived  there  in  time  to  hear  the  touching  and  brilliant 
speech  of  Fox,  which  we  are  not  presumptuous  enough  to 
imagine,  much  less  to  stultify  ourseh/es  by  attempting  to  give. 
He  dashed  the  charge  of  Reilly's  theft  of  the  jewels  to  pieces, 
not  a  difficult  task,  after  the  evidence  that  had  been  given  ; 
and  then  dwelt  upon  the  loves  of  this  celebrated  pair  with 
such  force  and  eloquence  and  pathos  that  the  court  was  once 
more  melted  into  tears.  The  closing  speech  by  the  leading 
counsel  against  Reilly  was  bitter;  but  the  gist  of  it  turned 
upon  the  fact  of  his  having  eloped  with  a  ward  of  Chancery, 
contrary  to  law  ;  and  he  informed  the  jury  that  no  affection — 
no  consent  upon  the  part  of  any  young  lady  under  age  was 
either  a  justification  of,  or  a  protection  against,  such  an  ab- 
duction as  that  of  which  Reilly  had  been  guilty.  The  state 
of  the  law  at  the  present  time,  he  assured  them,  rendered  it  a 
felony  to  marry  a  Catholic  and  a  Protestant  together ;    and 


WILLY  REILLY. 


375 


he  then  left  the  case  in  the  hands,  he  said,  of  an  honest 
Protestant  jury. 

The  judge's  charge  was  brief.  He  told  the  jury  that  they 
could  not  convict  the  prisoner  on  the  imputed  felony  of  the 
jewels  ;  but  that  the  proof  of  his  having  taken  away  Miss 
Folliard  from  her  father's  house,  with — as  the  law  stood — her 
felonious  abduction,  for  the  purpose  of  inveigling  her  into 
an  unlawful  marriage  with  himself,  was  the  subject  for  their 
consideration.  Even  had  he  been  a  Protestant,  the  law 
could  afford  him  no  protection  in  the  eye  of  the  Court  of 
Chancery. 

The  jury  retired ;  but  their  absence  from  their  box  was 
very  brief.  Unfortunately,  their  foreman  was  cursed  with  a 
dreadful  hesitation  in  his  speech,  and,  as  he  entered,  the 
Clerk  of  the  Crown  said  : 

"  Well,  gentlemen,  have  you  agreed  in  your  verdict  "i  " 
There  was   a  solemn  silence,  during  which   nothing  was 
heard  but  a  convulsive  working  about  the  chest  and  glottis  of 
the  foreman,  who  at  length  said ; 
"  We — we — 'we — we  have." 

"  Is  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  guilty  or  not  guilty  ?  " 
Here  the  internal  but  obstructed   machinery  of  the  chest 
and  throat  set  to  work  again,  and  at  last  the  foreman  was 
able  to  get  out — ''  Guilty — " 

Mrs.  Hastings  had  heard  enough,  and  too  much  ;  and  as 
the  sentence  was  pronounced,  she  'instantly  withdrew  ;  but 
how  to  convey  the  melancholy  tidings  to  the  Cooleen  Bawn 
she  knew  not.  In  the  mean  time  the  foreman,  who  had  not 
fully  delivered  liimself  of  the  verdict,  added,  after  two  or  three 
desperate  hiccoughs — "  on  the  second  count.'" 

This,  if  the  foreman  had  not  labored  under  such  an  ex- 
traordinary hesitation,  might  have  prevented  much  suffering, 
and  many  years  of  unconscious  calamity  to  one  of  the  unhappy 
parties  of  whom  we  are  writing,  inasmuch  as  the  felony 
of  the  jewels  would  have  been  death,  whilst  the  elopement 
with  a  ward  of  Chancery  was  only  transportation. 

When  Mrs.  Hastings  entered  the  room  where  the  Cooleen 
Bawn  was  awaiting  the  verdict  with  a  dreadful  intensity  of 
feeling,  the  latter  rose  up,  and,  throwing  her  arms  about  her 
neck,  looked  into  her  face,  with  an  expression  of  eagerness 
and  wildness,  which  Mrs.  Hastings  thought  rriight  be  best 
allayed  by  knowing  the  worst,  as  the  heart,  in  such  circum- 
stances, generally  collects  itself,  and  falls  back  upon  its  owa 
resources. 


376 


WILLY  REILLY. 


"Well,  Mrs.  Hastings,  well — the  verdict?" 

"  Collect  yourself,  my  child — be  firm — be  a  woman. 
Collect  yourself — for  you  will  require  it.  The  verdict — 
Guilty  ! "  _  ' 

The  Coolcen  Bawn  did  not  faint — nor  become  weak — but 
she  put  her  fair  white  hand  to  her  forehead — then  looked 
around  the  room,  then  upon  Mrs.  Brown,  and  lastly  upon  Mrs. 
Hastings.  They  also  looked  upon  her.  God  help  both  her 
and  them  !  Yes,  they  looked  upon  her  countenance — that 
lovely  countenance — and  then  into  her  eyes — those  eyes  ! 
But,  alas  !  where  was  their  beauty  now.^  Where  their  ex- 
pression ? 

"  Miss  Folliard  !  my  darling  Helen  ! "  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Hastings,  in  tears — "great  God,  what  is  this,  Mrs.  Brown? 
Come  here  and  look  at  her," 

Mrs.  Brown,  on  looking  at  her,  whispered,  in  choking  ac- 
cents, "Oh  !  my  God,  the  child's  reason  is  overturned  ,  what 
is  there  now  in  those  once  glorious  eyes  but  vacancy?  Oh, 
that  I  had  never  lived  to  see  this  awful  day!  Helen,  the 
treasure,  the  delight  of  all  who  ever  knew  you,  what  is  wrong? 
Oh,  speak  to  us — recognize  us — your  own  two  best  friends — 
Helen — Helen  !  speak  to  us  " 

She  looked  upon  them  certainly ;  but  it  was  with  a  dead 
and  vacant  stare  which  wrung  their  hearts. 

"  Come,"  said  she,  "  tell  me  where  is  William  Reilly  ?  Oh, 
bring  me  to  William  Reilly ;  they  have  taken  me  from  him, 
and  I  know  not  where  to  find  him." 

The  two  kind-hearted  ladies  looked  at  one  another,  each 
stupefied  by  the  mystery  of  what  they  witnessed. 

"  Oh,"  said  Mrs.  Hastings,  "  her  father  must  be  instantly 
sent  for.  Mrs.  Brown,  go  to  the  lobby — there  is  an  officer 
there — desire  him  to  go  to  Mr.  Folliard  and  say  that — but  we 
had  better  not  alarm  him  too  much,"  she  added,  "  say  that 
Miss  Folliard  wishes  to  see  him  immediately." 

The  judge,  we  may  observe  here,  had  not  yet  pronounced 
sentence  upon  Reilly.  The  old  man,  who,  under  all  possible 
circumstances,  was  so  affectionately  devoted  and  attentive  to 
his  daughter,  immediately  proceeded  to  the  room,  in  a  state 
of  great  triumph  and  exultation,  exclaiming,  "  Guilty,  guilty  ; 
we  have  noosed  him  at  last."  He  even  snapped  his  fingers, 
and  danced  about  for  a  time,  until  rebuked  by  Mrs.  Hastings. 

"  Unhappy  and  miserable  old  man,"  she  exclaimed,  with 
tears,  "  what  have  you  done  ?  Look  at  the  condition  of  your 
only  child,  whom  you  have  murdered.     She  is  nowa  maniac." 


WILLY  REILLY. 


377 


"What,"  he  exclaimed,  rushing  to  her,  '•'  what,  what  is  this? 
What  do  you  mean?  Helen,  my  darling,  my  child — my  de- 
light— what  is  wrong  with  you  ?  Recollect  yourself,  my  dear- 
est treasure.  Do  you  not  know  me,  your  own  father?  Oh, 
Helen,  Helen  !  for  the  love  of  God  speak  to  me  ?  Say  you 
know  me — call  me  father — rouse  yourself — recollect  me — 
don't  you  know  who  I  am?" 

There,  however,  was  the  frightfully  vacant  glance,  but  no 
reply, 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  in  a  low,  calm  voice,  "  where  is  William 
Reilly?  They  have  taken  me  from  him,  and  I  cannot  find 
him  ;  bring  me  to  William  Reilly." 

"  Don't  you  know  me,  Helen  ?  don't  you  know  your  lov- 
ing father  ?  Oh,  speak  to  me,  child  of  my  heart !  speak  but 
one  word  as  a  proof  that  you  know  me." 

She  looked  on  him,  but  that  look  filled  his  heart  with  un- 
utterable anguish  ;  he  clasped  her  to  that  heart,  he  kissed  her 
lips,  he  strove  to  soothe  and  console  her — but  in  vain.  There 
was  the  vacant  but  unsettled  eye,  from  which  the  bright  ex- 
pression of  reason  was  gone  ;  but  no  recognition — no  spark 
of  reflection  or  conscious  thought — nothing  but  the  melan- 
choly inquiry  from  those  beautiful  lips  of — "  Where's  William 
Reilly  ?  They  have  taken  me  from  him — and  will  not  allow 
me  to  see  him.     Oh,  bring  me  to  William  Reilly !  " 

"  Oh,  wretched  fate !  "  exclaimed  her  distracted  father, 
"  I  am — I  am  a  murderer,  and  faithful  Connor  was  right — 
Mrs.  Brown — Mrs.  Hastings — hear  me,  both — I  was  warned 
of  this,  but  I  would  not  listen  either  to  reason  or  remon- 
strance, and  now  I  am  punished,  as  Connor  predicted.  Great 
heaven,  what  a  fate  both  for  her  and  me — for  her  the  inno- 
cent, and  for  me  the  guilty  !  " 

It  is  unnecessary  to  dwell  upon  the  father's  misery  and 
distraction  ;  but,  from  all  our  readers  have  learned  of  his  ex- 
traordinary tenderness  and  affection  for  that  good  and  lovely 
daughter,  they  may  judge  of  what  he  suffered.  He  imme- 
diately ordered  his  carriage,  and  had  barely  time  to  hear  that 
Reilly  had  been  sentenced  to  transportation  for  seven  years. 
His  daughter  was  quite  meek  and  tractable  ;  she  spoke  not, 
nor  could  any  ingenuity  on  their  part  extract  the  slightest 
reply  from  her.  Neither  did  she  shed  a  single  tear,  but  the 
vacant  light  of  her  eyes  had  stamped  a  fatuitous  expression 
on  her  features  that  was  melancholy  and  heartbreaking  be- 
yond all  pONver  of  language  to  describe. 

No  other  person  had  seen  her  since  the  bereavement  of 


378  WILL  V  REILL  V. 

her  reason,  except  the  officer  who  kept  guard  on  the  lobby, 
and  who,  in  the  hurry  and  distraction  of  the  moment,  had  been 
dispatched  by  Mrs.  Brown  for  a  glass  of  cold  water.  Her 
father's  ravings,  however,  in  the  man's  presence,  added  to  his 
own  observation,  and  the  distress  of  her  female  friends,  were 
quite  sufficient  to  satisfy  him  of  the  nature  of  her  complaint, 
and  ill  less  than  hah  an  hour  it  was  through  the  whole  court- 
house, and  the  t  ,wn  besides,  that  the  Coolcen  Bawn  had  gone 
mad  on  hearing  the  sentence  that  was  passed  upon  her  lover. 
Her  two  friends  accompanied  her  home,  and  remained  with 
her  for  the  night. 

Such  was  the  melancholy  conclusion  of  the  trial  of  Willy 
ReiLy ;  but  even  taking  it  at  its  worst,  it  involved  a  very  dif- 
ferent fate  from  that  of  his  vindictive  rival,  Whitecraft.  It 
appeared  that  that  worthy  gentleman  and  the  Red  Rapparee 
had  been  sentenced  to  die  on  the  same  day,  and  at  the  same 
hour.  It  is  true,  Whitecraft  was  aware  that  a  deputation  had 
gone  post-haste  to  Dublin  Castle  to  solicit  his  pardon,  or  at 
least  some  lenient  c  -mmutation  of  punishment.  Still,  it  was 
feared  that,  owing  to  the  dreadful  state  of  the  roads,  and  the 
slow  mode  of  tra/eiling  at  that  period,  there  was  a  probabil- 
ity that  the  pardon  might  not  arrive  in  time  to  be  available; 
and  indeed  there  w  is  every  reason  to  apprehend  as  much. 
The  day  appointed  for  the  execution  of  the  Red  Rapparee  and 
him  arrived — nay,  the  very  hour  had  come ;  but  still  there 
was  hope  among  his  friends.  The  sheriff,  a  firm,  but  fair  and 
reasonable  man,  waited  beyond  the  time  named  by  the  judge 
for  his  execution.  At  length  he  felt  the  necessity  of  dis- 
charging his  duty  ;  for,  although  more  than  an  hour  beyond 
the  appointed  period  had  now  elapsed,  yet  this  delay  pro- 
ceeded from  no  personal  regard  he  entertained  for  the  felon, 
but  from  respect  for  many  of  those  who  had  interested  them- 
selve!:  in  his  fate. 

After  an  unusual  delay  the  sheriff  felt  himself  called  upon 
to  order  both  the  Rapparee  and  the  baronet  for  execution. 
In  waiting  so  long  for  a  pardon,  he  felt  that  he  had  trans- 
gressed his  duty,  and  he  accordingly  ordered  them  out  for  the 
last  ceremony.  The  hardened  Rapparee  died  sullen  and 
silent;  the  ^nly  regret  he  expressed  being  that  he  could  not 
live  to  see  his  old  friend  turned  off  before  him. 

"Troth,"  replied  the  hangman,  "only  that  the  sheriff  has 
ordhered  me  to  hang  you  first  as  bein'  the  betther  man.  I 
would  give  you  the  same  satisfaction ;  but  if  you're  not  in  a 
very  great  hurry  to  the  warm  corner  you're  goin'  to,  and  if 


WILLY  REILLY. 


379 


you  will  just  take  your  time  for  a  few  minutes,  I'll  engage  to 
say  you  will  soon  have  company.  God  speed  you,  any  way,'' 
he  exclaimed  as  he  turned  him  off;  "  only  take  your  time,  and 
wait  for  your  neighbors.  Now,  Sir  Robert,"  said  he,  "  turn 
about,  they  say,  is  fair  play — it's  your  turn  now;  but  you  look 
unbecomin'  upon  it.  Hould  up  your  head,  man,  and  don't 
be  cast  down.  You'll  have  company  where  you're  goin' ;  for 
the  Red  Rapparee  tould  me  to  >ell  you  that  he'd  wait  for  you. 
Hallo  ! — what's  that  ?  "  he  exclaimed  as  he  cast  his  eye  to  the 
distance  and  discovered  a  horseman  riding  for  life,  with  a 
white  handkerchief,  or  flag  of  some  kind,  floating  in  the 
breeze.  The  elevated  position  in  which  the  executioner  was 
placed  enabled  him  to  see  the  signal  before  it  could  be  per- 
ceived by  the  crowd.  "Come,  Sir  Robert,"  said  he,  "stand 
where  I'll  place  you — there's  no  use  in  asking  you  to  hould 
up  your  head,  for  you're  not  able  ;  but  listen.  You  hanged 
my  brother  that  you  knew  to  be  innocent ;  and  now  I  hang 
you  that  I  know  to  be  guilty.  Yes,  I  hang  you,  with  the  white 
flag  of  the  Lord  Lieutenant's  pardon  for  you  wavin'  in  the 
distance  :  and  listen  Tigzm,  remember  Wi/iy  Reilly;"  and  with 
these  words  he  launched  him  into  eternity. 

The  uproar  among  his  friends  was  immense,  as  was  the 
cheering  from  the  general  crowd,  at  the  just  fate  of  this  bad 
man.  The  former  rushed  to  the  gallows,  in  order  to  cut  him 
down,  with  a  hope  that  life  might  still  be  in  him,  a  process 
which  the  sheriff,  after  perusing  his  pardon,  permitted  them 
to  carry  into  effect.  The  body  was  accordingly  taken  into 
the  prison,  and  a  surgeon  procured  to  examine  it;  but  alto- 
gether in  vain  ;  his  hour  had  gone  by,  life  was  extinct,  and  all 
the  honor  they  could  now  pay  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  was  to 
give  him  a  pompous  funeral,  and  declare  him  a  martyr  to 
Popery — both  of  which  they  did. 

On  the  day  previous  to  Reilly's  departure  his  humble 
friend  and  namesake,  Fergus,  at  the  earnest  solicitation  of 
Reilly  himself,  was  permitted  to  pay  him  a  last  melancholy 
visit.  After  his  sentence,  as  well  as  before  it,  every  attention 
had  been  paid  to  him  by  O'Shaughnessy,  the  jailer,  who 
although  an  avowed  Protestant,  and  a  brand  plucked  from  the 
burning,  was  nevertheless,  a  lurking  Catholic  at  heart,  and 
felt  a  corresponding  sympathy  with  his  prisoner.  When 
Fergus  entered  his  cell  he  found  him  neither  fettered  nor 
manacled,  but  perfectly  in  the  enjoyment  at  least  of  bodily 
freedom.  It  is  inipossible,  indeed,  to  say  how  far  the  influ- 
ence of  money  may  have  gone  in  securing  him  the  comforts 


380  WILL  Y  REILL  Y. 

which  surrounded  him,  and  the  attentions  which  he  received 
On  entering  his  cell,  Fergus  was  struck  by  the  calm  and  com- 
posed air  with  which  he  received  him.  His  face,  it  is  true, 
was  paler  than  usual,  but  a  feeling  of  indignant  pride,  if  not 
of  fixed  but  stern  indignation,  might  be  read  under  the  com- 
posure into  which  he  forced  himself,  and  which  he  endeavored 
to  suppress.  He  approached  Fergus,  and  extending  his  hand 
with  a  peculiar  smile,  very  difficult  to  be  described,  said  : 

"  Fergus  I  am  glad  to  see  you ;  I  hope  you  are  safe — at 
least  I  have  heard  so." 

"  I  am  safe,  sir,  and  free,"  replied  Fergus;  "  thanks  to  the 
Red  Rapparee  and  the  sheriff  for  it." 

"Well,"  proceeded  Reilly,  "you  have  one  comfort — the 
Red  Rapparee  will  neither  tempt  you  nor  trouble  you  again  ; 
but  is  there  no  danger  of  his  gang  taking  up  his  quarrel  and 
avenging  him  ] " 

"  His  gang,  sir  ?  Why,  only  for  me  he  would  a'  betrayed 
every  man  of  them  to  Whitecraft  and  the  Government,  and 
had  them  hanged,  drawn,  and  quartered — ay,  and  their  heads 
grinning  at  us  in  every  town  in  the  county." 

"Well,  Fergus,  let  his  name  and  his  crimes  perish  with 
him  ;  but,  as  for  you,  what  do  you  intend  to  do  ? " 

"Troth,  sir,"  replied  Fergus,  "it's  more  than  I  rightly 
know.  I  had  my  hopes,  like  others  ;  but,  somehow,  luck  has 
left  all  sorts  of  lovers  of  late — from  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  to 
your  humble  servant." 

"  But  you  may  thank  God,"  said  Reilly,  with  a  smile,  "  that 
you  had  not  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft's  luck." 

"  Faith,  sir,"  replied  Fergus  archly,  "  there's  a  pair  of  us 
may  do  so.  You  went  nearer  his  luck — such  as  it  was — than 
I  did." 

"  True  enough,"  replied  the  other,  with  a  serious  air  ;  "  I 
had  certainly  a  n*rrow  escape ;  but  I  wish  to  know,  as  I  said, 
what  you  intend  to  do  ?  It  is  your  duty  now,  Fergus,  to  settle 
industriously  and  honestly." 

"  Ah,  sir,  Jwnestly.  I  didn't  expect  that  from  you,  T>Ir. 
Reilly." 

"  Excuse  me,  Fergus,"  said  Reilly,  taking  him  by  the 
hand  ;  when  I  said  honestly  I  did  not  mean  to  intimate  any 
thing  whatsoever  against  your  integrity.  I  know,  unfortu- 
nately, the  harsh  circumstances  which  drove  you  to  associate 
with  that  remorseless  villain  and  his  gang;  but  I  wish  you  to 
resume  an  industrious  life,  and,  if  Ellen  Connor  is  disposed 
to  unite  her  faith  with  yours,  I  have  provided  the  ni^ans — • 


WILLY  REII.LY.  381 

aiiiple  means  for  you  both  to  be  comfortable  and  happy.  She 
who  was  so  faithful  to  her  mistress  will  not  fail  to  make  you 
a  good  wife." 

•'  Ah,"  replied  Fergus,  "  it's  I  that  knows  that  well ;  but, 
unfortunately,  I  have  no  hope  there." 

"No  hope;  how  is  that?  I  thought  your  affection  was 
mutual." 

"So  it  is,  sir — or,  rather,  so  it  was,  but  she  has  affection 
for  nobody  now,  barring  the  Coolccn  Bawn." 

Reilly  paused,  and  appeared  deeply  moved  by  this. 
"What,"' said  he,  will  she  not  leave  her?  But  I  am  not  sur- 
prised at  it." 

"  No,  sir,  she  will  not  leave  her,  but  has  taken  an  oath  to 
stay  by  her  night  and  day,  until — better  times  come." 

We  may  say  here  that  Reilly's  friends  took  care  that 
neither  jailer  nor  turnkey  should  make  him  acquainted  with 
the  unhappy  state  of  the  Cooken  Bawn;  he  was  consequently 
ignorant  of  it,  and,  fortunately,  remained  so  until  after  his 
return  home. 

"  Fergus,"  said  Reilly,  "can  you  tell  me  how  the  Cooken 
Bawn  bears  the  sentence  which  sends  me  to  a  far  country?" 

"  How  would  she  bear  it,  sir?  You  needn't  ask:  Connor, 
at  all  events,  will  not  part  from  her — not,  anyway,  until  you 
come  back." 

"Well,  Fergus,"  proceeded  Reilly,  "I  have,  as  I  said, 
provided  for  you  both ;  what  that  provision  is  I  will  not 
mention  now.  Mr,  Hastings  will  inform  you.  But  if  you 
have  a  wish  to  leave  this  unhappy  and  distracted  country, 
even  without  Connor,  why,  by  applying  to  him,  you  will  be 
enabled  to  do  so ;  or,  if  you  wish  to  stay  at  home  and  take  a 
farm,  you  may  do  so." 

"Divil  a  foot  I'll  leave  the  country,"  replied  the  other. 
"  Ellen  may  stick  to  the  Cooken  Bawn,  but,  be  my  sowl,  I'll 
stick  to  Ellen,  if  I  was  to  wait  these  seven  years.  I'll  be  as 
stiff  as  she  is  stout ;  but,  at  any  rate,  she's  worth  waitin'  for." 

"You  may  well  say  so,"  replied  Reilly,  "and  I  can  quar- 
rel neither  with  your  attachment  nor  your  patience  ;  but  you 
will  not  forget  to  let  her  know  the  provision  which  I  have  left 
for  her  in  the  hands  of  Mr.  Hastings,  and  tell  her  it  is  a  slight 
reward  for  her  noble  attachment  to  my  dear  Cooken  Bawn. 
Fergus,"  he  proceeded,  "have  you  ever  had  a  dream  in  the 
middle  of  which  you  awoke,  then  fell  asleep  and  dreamt  out 
the  dream  ? " 

"  Troth  had  I,  often,   sir ;  and,  by  the  way,  talkin'  of 


3S  2  WILL  V  REILL  Y. 

dreams,  I  dreamt  last  night  that  I  was  wantin'  Ellen  to  marry 
me,  and  she  said,  'not  yet,  Fergus,  but  in  due  time.'" 

"  Well,  Fergus,  "  proceeded  Reilly,  "  perhaps  there  is  but 
half  my  dream  of  life  gone  ;  who  knows  when  I  return — if  I 
ever  do — but  my  dream  may  be  completed  ?  and  happily,  too  ; 
I  know  the  truth  and  faith  of  my  dear  Cooleen  Bawn.  And, 
Fergus,  it  is  not  merely  my  dear  Cooleen  Bawn  that  I  feel  for, 
but  for  my  unfortunate  country,  I  am  not,  however,  without 
hope  that  the  day  will  come — although  it  may  be  a  distant 
one — when  she  will  enjoy  freedom,  peace,  and  prosperity. 
Now,  Fergus,  good  by,  and  farewell !  Come,  come,  be  a 
man,"  he  added,  with  a  melancholy  smile,  whilst  a  tear  stood 
even  in  his  own  eye — "come,  Fergus,  I  will  not  have  this;  I 
won't  say  farewell  forever,  because  I  expect  to  return  and  be 
happy  yet — if  not  in  my  own  country,  at  least  in  some  other, 
where  there  is  more  freedom  and  less  persecution  for  con- 
science' sake  " 

Poor  Fergus,  however,  when  the  parting  moment  arrived, 
was  completely  overcome.  He  caught  Reilly  in  his  arms — 
wept  over  him  bitterly — and,  after  a  last  and  sorrowful  em- 
brace, was  prevailed  upon  to  take  his  leave. 

The  history  of  the  Cooleen  Bawn's  melancholy  fate  soon 
went  far  and  near,  and  many  an  eye  that  had  never  rested  on 
her  beauty  gave  its  tribute  of  tears  to  her  undeserved  sorrows. 
There  existed,  however,  one  individual  who  was  the  object  of 
almost  as  deep  a  compassion  ,  this  was  her  father,  who  was 
consumed  by  the  bitterest  and  most  profound  remorse.  His 
whole  character  became  changed  by  his  terrible  and  unex- 
pected shock,  by  which  his  beautiful  and  angelic  daughter 
had  been  blasted  before  his  eyes.  He  was  no  longer  the 
boisterous  and  convivial  old  squire,  changeful  and  unsettled 
in  all  his  opinions,  but  silent,  quiet,  and  abstracted  almost 
from  life. 

He  wept  incessantly,  but  his  tears  did  not  bring  him  com- 
fort, for  they  were  tears  of  anguish  and  despair.  Ten  times 
a  day  he  would  proceed  to  her  chamber,  or  follow  her  to  the 
garden  where  she  loved  to  walk,  always  in  the  delusive  hope 
that  he  might  catch  some  spark  of  returning  reason  from  those 
calm-looking  but  meaningless  eyes,  after  which  he  would  weep 
like  a  child.  With  respect  to  his  daughter,  everything  was 
done  for  her  that  wealth  and  human  means  could  accomplish, 
but  to  no  purpose  ;  the  malady  was  too  deeply  seated  to  be 
affected  by  any  known  remedy,  whether  moral  or  physical. 
From  the  moment  she  was  struck  into  insanity  she  was  never 


WILL  V  REIL  LY.  383 

known  to  smile,  or  to  speak,  unless  when  she  chanced  to  see 
a  stranger,  upon  which  she  immediately  approached,  and 
asked,  with  clasped  hands  : 

"Oh!  can  you  tell  me  where  is  William  Reilly?  They 
have  taken  me  from  him,  and  I  cannot  find  him.  Oh  !  can 
yon  tell  me  where  is  William  Reilly  ?" 

There  was,  however,  another  individual  upon  whose  heart 
the  calamity  of  the  Cooleeii  Baton  fell  like  a  blight  that 
seemed  to  have  struck  it  into  such  misery  and  sorrow  as 
threatened  to  end  only  with  life.  This  was  the  faithful  and 
attached  Ellen  Connor.  On  the  day  of  Reilly's  trial  she 
experienced  the  alternations  of  hope,  uncertainty,  and  de- 
spair, with  such  a  depth  of  anxious  feeling,  and  such  fever- 
ish excitement,  that  the  period  of  time  which  elapsed  ap- 
peared to  her  as  if  it  would  never  come  to  an  end.  She 
could  neither  sit,  nor  stand,  nor  work,  nor  read,  nor  take 
her  meals,  nor  scarcely  think  with  any  consistency  or  clear- 
ness of  thought.  We  have  mentioned  hope — but  it  was  the 
faintest  and  the  feeblest  element  in  that  chaos  of  distress 
and  confusion  which  filled  and  distracted  her  mind.  She 
knew  the  state  and  condition  of  the  country  too  well — she 
knew  the  powerful  influence  of  Mr,  Folliard  in  his  native 
county — she  knew  what  the  consequences  to  Reilly  must  be 
of  taking  away  a  Protestant  heiress  ;  the  fact  was  there — 
plain,  distinct,  and  incontrovertible,  and  she  knew  that  no 
chance  of  impunity  or  acquittal  remained  for  any  one  of  his 
creed  guilty  of  such  a  violation  of  the  laws — we  say,  she  knew 
all  this — but  it  was  not  of  the  fate  of  Reilly  she  thought. 
The  girl  was  an  acute  observer,  and  bolh  a  close  and  clear 
thinker.  She  had  remarked  in  the  Coolceti  Bazvn,  on  several 
occasions,  small  gushes,  as  it  were,  of  unsettled  thought,  and 
of  temporarv  wildness,  almost  approaching  to  insanity.  She 
knew,  besides,  that  insanity  was  in  the  family  on  her  father's 
side  ;  *  and,  as  she  had  so  boldly  and  firmly  stated  to  that 
father  himself,  she  dreaded  the  result  which  Reilly's  conviction 
might  produce  upon  a  mind  with  such  a  tendency,  worn  down 
and  depressed  as  it  had  been  by  all  she  had  suffered,  and 
more  especially  what  she  must  feel  b}'  the  tumult  and  agita- 
tion of  that  dreadful  day. 

It  was  about  two  hours  after  dark  when  she  was  startled 
by   the    noise  of   the   carriage-wheels  as  they  came  up  the 

♦  The  reader  must  take  this  as  the  necessary  material  {or  our  fiction.  There  never 
was  insanity  in  Helci.'s  family  ;  and  we  make  this  note  to  prevent  them  from  taking  tin- 
necessary  offence. 


^84  ^^^^  ^  REILL  Y. 

avenue.  Her  heart  beat  as  if  it  would  burst,  the  blood  rushed 
to  her  head,  and  she  became  too  giddy  to  stand  or  walk  ; 
then  it  seemed  to  rush  back  to  her  heart,  and  she  was  seized 
with  thick  breathing  and  feebleness  ;  but  at  length,  strength- 
ened by  the  very  intensity  of  the  interest  she  felt,  she  made 
her  way  to  the  lower  steps  of  the  hall  door  in  time  to  be 
present  when  the  carriage  arrived  at  it.  She  determined, 
however,  wrought  up  as  she  was  to  the  highest  state  of  excite- 
ment, to  await,  to  watch,  to  listen.  She  did  so.  The  carriage 
stopped  at  the  usual  place,  the  coachman  came  down  and 
opened  the  door,  and  Mr.  FoUiard  came  out.  After  him,  as- 
sisted by  Mrs.  Brown,  came  Helen,  who  was  immediately  con- 
ducted in  between  the  latter'  and  her  father.  In  the  mean 
time  poor  Helen  could  only  look  on.  She  was  incapable  of 
asking  a  single  question,  but  she  followed  them  up  to  the 
drawing-room  where  they  conducted  her  mistress.  When 
she  was  about  to  enter  Mrs.  Brown  said  : 

"  Ellen,  you  had  better  not  come  in  ;  your  mistress  is  un- 
well." 

Mrs.  Hastings  then  approached,  and,  with  a  good  deal  of 
judgment  and  consideration,  said: 

"  I  think  it  is  better,  Mrs.  Brown,  that  Ellen  should  see 
her,  or,  rather,  that  she  should  see  Ellen.  Who  can  tell  how 
beneficial  the  effect  may  be  on  her  ?  We  all  know  how  she 
was  attached  to  Ellen." 

In  addition  to  those  fearful  intimations,  Ellen  heard  inside 
the  sobs  and  groans  of  her  distracted  father,  mingled  with 
caresses  and  such  tender  and  affectionate  language  as,  she 
knew  by  the  words,  could  only  be  addressed  to  a  person  in- 
capable of  understanding  them.  Mrs.  Brown  held  the  door 
partially  closed,  but  the  faithful  girl  would  not  be  repulsed. 
She  pushed  in,  exclaiming  : 

"  Stand  back,  Mrs.  Brown,  I  must  see  my  mistress  ! — if 
she  is  my  mistress,  or  anybody's  mistress  now  " — and  accord- 
ingly she  approached  the  settee  on  which  the  Cooleen  Bawn 
sato  The  old  squire  w^as  wringing  his  hands,  sobbing,  and 
giving  vent  to  the  most  uncontrollable  sorrov/. 

"  Oh,  Ellen,"  said  he,  "  pity  and  forgive  me.  Your  mis- 
tress is  gone,  gone  ! — she  knows  nobody  '  " 

"  Stand  aside,"  she  replied  ;  "  stand  aside  all  of  you  ;  let 
me  to  her.' 

She  knelt  beside  the  settee,  looked  distractedly,  but  keenly, 
at  her  for  about  half  a  minute — but  there  she  sat,  calm,  pale, 
and  unconscious.     At  length  she  turned  her  eyes  upon  Ellen 


WILLY  REILlY  385 

■^for  evei  since  the  girl's  entrance  ^he  had  been  gazing  on 
vacancy — and  immediately  said  : 

"  Oh  !  can  you  tell  me  where  ii  William  Reilly  ?  They 
have  taken  me  from  him,  and  I  canuot  find  him.  Oh  !  will 
yoii  tell  me  where  is  William  Reilly  ? " 

Ellen  gave  two  or  three  rapid  sobs  ;  but,  by  a  powerful 
effort,  she  somewhat  composed  herself. 

"  Miss  Folliard,"  she  said,  in  a  choking  voice,  however, 
"  darling  Miss  Folliard — my  beloved  mistress — Cooleen  Bawn 
— oh,  do  you  not  know  me — me,  your  own  faithful  Ellen,  that 
loved  you — and  that  loves  you  so  well — ay,  beyond  father  and 
mother,  and  all  others  living  in  this  unhappy  world  ?  Oh, 
speak  to  me,  dear  mistress — speak  to  your  own  faithful  Ellen, 
and  only  say  that  you  know  me,  or  only  look  upon  me  as  i£ 
you  did." 

Not  a  glance,  however,  of  recognition  followed  those  lov- 
ing solicitations]  but  there,  before  them  all,  she  sat,  with  the 
pale  face,  the  sorrowful  brow,  and  the  vacant  look.  Ellen 
addressed  her  with  equal  tenderness  again  and  again,  but 
with  the  same  melancholy  effect.  The  fact  was  beyond 
question — reason  had  departed  ;  the  fair  temple  was  there, 
but  the  light  of  the  divinity  that  had  been  enshrined  in  it  was 
no  longer  visible  ;  it  seemed  to  have  been  abandoned  prob" 
ably  forever.  Ellen  now  finding  that  every  effort  to  restore 
her  to  rational  consciousness  was  ineffectual,  rose  up,  and, 
looking  about  for  a  moment,  her  eyes  rested  upon  her  father. 

"  Oh,  Ellen  !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  spare  me,  spare  me — you 
know  I'm  in  your  power.  I  neglected  your  honest  and 
friendly  warning,  and  now  it  is  too  late." 

"Poor  man  !"  she  replied,  "it  is  not  she,  but  you,  that  is 
to  be  pitied.  No  j  after  this  miserable  sight,  never  shall  my 
lips  breathe  one  syllable  of  censure  against  you.  Your 
punishment  is  too  dreadful  for  that.  But  when  I  look  upon 
her — look  upon  her  now — oh,  my  God  !  what  is  this  ? — " 

"  Help  the  girl  '  said  Mrs.  Brown  quickly,  and  with  alarm. 
"Oh,  she  has  fallen — r  .sj  ner  up,  Mr.  Folliard.  Oh,  my 
God,  Mrs.  Hastings,  what  a  scene  is  this  !  " 

They  immediately  opened  her  stays,  and  conveyed  her  to 
another  settee,  where  she  lay  for  nearly  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
in  a  calm  and  tranqui  insensibility.  With  the  aid  of  the 
usual  remedies,  howev^er,  she  was,  but  with  some  diffiiculty, 
restored,  after  which  she  burst  into  tears,  and  wept  for  some 
time  bitterly.  At  length  she  recovered  a  certain  degree  of 
composure,  and,  after  settling  her  dress  and  luxuriant  brown 


386 


WILLY  J? E ILLY. 


hair,  aided  by  Mrs.  Brown  and  Mrs.  Hastings,  she  arose,  an 
once  more  approaching  her  lovely,  but  unconscious,  mistress, 
knelt  down,  and,  clasping  her  hands,  looked  up  to  heaven, 
whilst  she  said  : 

"  Here,  I  take  the  Almighty  God  to  witness,  that  from  this 
moment  out  I  renounce  father  and  mother,  brother  and  sister, 
friend  and  relative,  man  and  woman,  and  will  abide  by  my 
dear  unhappy  Cooleen  Bawn — that  blighted  flower  before  us 
both  by  day  and  by  night — through  all  seasons — through  all 
places  wherever  she  may  go,  or  be  brought,  until  it  may  please 
God  to  restore  her  to  reason,  or  until  death  may  close  her 
sufferings,  should  I  live  so  long,  and  have  health  and  strength 
to  carry  out  this  solemn  oath ;  so  may  God  hear  me,  and  as- 
sist me  in  my  intention." 

She  then  rose,  and,  putting  her  arms  around  the  fair  girl, 
kissed  her  lips,  and  poured  forth  a  copious  flood  of  tears  into 
her  bosom, 

"I  am  yours  now,"  she  said,  caressing  her  mournfully ; 
*'  I  am  yours  now,  my  ever  darling  mistress  ;  and  from  this 
hour  forth  nothing  but  death  will  ever  separate  your  own 
Connor  from  you." 

Well  and  faithfully  did  she  keep  that  generous  and  heroic 
oath.  Ever,  for  many  a  long  and  hopeless  year,  was  she  to 
be  found,  both  night  and  day,  by  the  side  of  that  beautiful  but 
melancholy  sufferer.  No  other  hand  ever  dressed  or  un- 
dressed her  ;  no  other  individual  ever  attended  to  her  wants, 
or  complied  with  those  little  fitful  changes  and  caprices  to 
which  persons  of  her  unhappy  class  are  subject.  The  conse- 
quence of  this  tender  and  devoted  attachment  was  singular, 
but  not  by  any  means  incompatible,  we  think,  even  with  her 
situation.  If  Connor,  for  instance,  was  any  short  time 
absent,  and  another  person  supplied  her  place,  the  Cooleen 
Bawn,  in  whose  noble  and  loving  heart  the  strong  instincts  of 
affection  could  never  die,  uniformly  appeared  dissatisfied  and 
uneasy,  and  looked  around  her,  as  if  for  some  object  that 
would  afford  her  pleasure.  On  Ellen's  reappearance  a  faint 
but  placid  smile  would  shed  its  feeble  light  over  her  counte- 
nance, and  she  would  appear  calm  and  contented  ;  but,  during 
all  this  time,  word  uttered  she  none,  with  the  exception  of 
those  to  which  we  have  already  alluded. 

These  were  the  only  words  she  was  known  to  utter,  and 
no  stranger  ever  came  in  her  way  to  whom  she  did  not  repeat 
them.  In  this  way  her  father,  her  maid,  and  herself  passed 
through  a  melancholy  existence  for  better  than   six   years, 


WILL  Y  RE  ILL  V. 


387 


when  a  young  physician  of  great  promise  happened  to  settle 
in  the  town  of  SHgo,  and  her  father  having  heard  of  it  had 
him  immediately  called  in.  After  looking  at  her,  however,  he 
found  himself  accosted  in  the  same  terms  we  have  already 
given : 

"  Oh  !  can  you  tell  me  where  is  William  Reilly  ?  " 

"William  Reilly  will  soon  be  with  you,"  he  replied;  "he 
will  soon  be  here." 

A  start — barely,  scarcely  perceptible,  was  noticed  by  the 
keen  eye  of  the  physician  ;  but  it  passed  away,  and  left  noth- 
ing but  that  fixed  and  beautiful  vacancy  behind  it. 

"  Sir,"  said  the  physician,  "  I  do  not  absolutely  despair  of 
Miss  Folliard's  recovery:  the  influence  of  some  deep  excite- 
ment, if  it  could  be  made  accessible,  might  produce  a  good 
effect ;  it  was  by  a  sheck  it  came  upon  her,  and  I  am  of 
opinion  that  if  she  ever  does  recover  it  will  be  by  something 
similar  to  that  which  induced  her  pitiable  malady." 

"  I  will  give  a  thousand  pounds — five  thousand — ten 
thousand,  to  any  man  who  will  be  fortunate  enough  to  restore 
her  to  reason,"  said  her  father. 

"  One  course,"  proceeded  the  physician,  "  I  would  recom- 
mend you  to  pursue  ;  bring  her  about  as  much  as  you  can  ; 
give  her  variety  of  scenery  and  variety  of  new  faces  ;  visit 
your  friends,  and  bring  her  with  you.  This  course  may  have 
some  effect ;  as  for  medicine,  it  is  of  no  use  here,  for  her 
health  is  in  every  other  respect  good." 

He  then  took  his  leave,  having  first  received  a  fee  which 
somewhat  astonished  him. 

His  advice,  however,  was  followed  ;  her  father  and  she, 
and  Connor,  during  the  summer  and  autumn  months,  visited 
among  their  acquaintances  and  friends,  by  whom  they  were 
treated  with  the  greatest  and  most  considerate  kindness  ;  but, 
so  far  as  poor  Helen  was  concerned,  no  symptom  of  any  sal- 
utary change  became  visible  ;  the  long,  dull  blank  of  de- 
parted reason  was  still  unbroken. 


Better  than  seven  years  and  a  half  had  now  elapsed,  when 
she  and  her  father  came  by  invitation  to  pay  a  visit  to  a  Mi. 
Hamilton,  grandfather  to  the  late  Dacre  Hamilton  of  Mona- 
ghan,  who — the  grandfather  we  mean — was  one  of  the  most 
notorious  priest-hunters  of  his  day.  We  need  not  say  that 
her  faithful  Connor  was  still  in  attendance.     Old   FoUiard 


388  WILLY  REILLY. 

went  riding  out  with  his  friend,  for  he  vas  now  so  much  de- 
bilitated as  to  be  scarcely  able  to  walk  abroad  for  any  dis- 
tance, when,  about  the  hour  of  two  o'clock,  a  man  in  the 
garb,  and  with  all  the  bearing  of  a  perfect  gentleman,  knocked 
at  the  door,  and  inquired  of  the  man  who  opened  it  whether 
Miss  Folliard  were  not  there.  The  servant  replied  in  the  af- 
firmative, upon  which  the  stranger  asked  if  he  could  see  her. 

"  Why,  I  suppose  you  must  be  aware,  sir,  of  Miss 
Folliard's  unfortunate  state  of  mind,  and  that  she  can  see 
nobody ;  sir,  she  knows  nobody,  and  I  have  strict  orders  to 
deny  her  to  every  one  unless  some  particular  friend  of  the 
family." 

The  stranger  put  a  guinea  into  his  hand,  and  added,  "  I 
had  the  pleasure  of  knowing  her  before  she  lost  her  reason, 
and  as  I  have  not  seen  her  since,  I  should  be  glad  to  see  her 
now,  or  even  to  look  on  her  for  a  few  minutes. 

"  Come  up,  sir,"  replied  the  man,  "  and  enter  the  draw- 
ing-room immediately  after  me,  or  I  shall  be  ordered  to  deny 
her." 

The  gentleman  followed  him  ;  but  why  did  his  cheek  be- 
come pale,  and  why  did  his  heart  palpitate  as  if  it  would  burst 
and  bound  out  of  his  bosom  ?  We  shall  see.  On  entering  the 
drawing-room  he  bowed,  and  was  about  to  apologize  for  his 
intrusion,  when  the  Cooken  Bawti,  recognizing  him  as  a 
stranger,  approached  him  and  said  : 

"  Oh  !  can  }'ou  tell  me  where  is  William  Reilly  ?  They 
have  taken  me  from  him,  and  I  cannot  find  him.  Oh,  ca.n  you 
tell  me  anything  about  William  Reilly?" 

The  stranger  staggered  at  this  miserable  sight,  but  prob- 
ably more  at  the  contemplation  of  that  love  which  not  even 
insanity  could  subdue.  He  felt  himself  obliged  to  lean  for 
support  upon  the  back  of  a  chair,  during  which  brief  space  he 
fixed  his  eyes  upon  her  with  a  look  of  the  most  inexpressible 
tenderness  and  sorrow. 

"  Oh  ! "  she  repeated,  "  can  you  tell  me  where  is  William 
Reilly  ? " 

"  Alas  I  Helen,"  said  he,  "  I  am  William  Reilly." 

"  You  ! "  she  exclaimed.  "  Oh,  no,  the  wide,  wide  At- 
lantic is  between  him  and  me." 

"  It  was  between  us,  Helen,  but  it  is  not  now  ;  1  am  ner» 
in  life  before  you — your  own  William  Reilly,  that  William 
Reilly  whom  you  loved  so  well,  but  so  fatally.  I  am  he :  do 
you  not  know  me  ?  '^ 


WILLY  K El LLY.  .9 

"You  are  not  William  Reilly,"  she  replied  ;  "  if  you  wcic, 
you  would  have  a  token." 

"  Do  you  forget  that  ?  "  he  replied,  placing  in  her  hand 
the  emerald  ring  she  had  given  him  at  the  trial.  She  started 
on  looking  at  it,  and  a  feeble  flash  was  observed  to  proceed 
from  her  eyes. 

"  This  might  come  to  you,"  she  said,  "by  Reilly's  death  ; 
yes,  this  might  come  to  you  in  that  way  ;  but  there  is  another 
token  which  is  known  to  none  but  himself  and  me." 

"  Whisper,"  said  he,  and  as  he  spoke  he  applied  his  mouth 
to  her  ear,  and  breathed  the  token  into  it.  She  stood  back, 
her  eyes  flashed,  her  beautiful  bosom  heaved  ;  she  advanced, 
looked  once  more,  and  exclaimed,  with  a  scream,  "  It  is  he  ! 
it  is  he  !  "  and  the  next  moment  she  was  insensible  in  his 
arms.  Long  but  precious  was  that  insensibility,  and  precious 
were  the  tears  which  his  eyes  rained  down  upon  that  pale  but 
lovely  countenance.  She  was  soon  placed  upon  a  settee,  but 
Reilly  knelt  beside  her,  and  held  one  of  her  hands  in  his. 
After  a  long  trance  she  opened  her  eyes  and  again  started. 
Reilly  pressed  her  hand  and  whispered  in  her  ear,  "  Helen,  I 
am  with  you  at  last." 

She  smiled  on  him  and  said,  "  Help  me  to  sit  up,  unRl  I 
)ook  about  me,  that  I  may  be  certain  this  is  not  a  dream." 

She  then  looked  about  her,  and  as  the  ladies  of  the  family 
spoke  tenderly  to  her,  and  caressed  her,  she  fixed  her  eyes 
once  more  upon  her  lover,  and  said,  "  It  is  not  a  dream  then  ; 
this  is  reality  ;  but,  alas!  Reilly,  I  tremble  to  think  lest  they 
should  take  you  from  me  again." 

*'  You  need  entertain  no  such  apprehension,  my  dear 
Helen,"  said  the  lady  of  the  mansion.  "  I  have  often  heard 
your  father  say  that  he  would  give  twenty  thousand  pounds 
to  have  you  well,  and  Reilly's  wife.  In  fact,  you  have 
nothing  to  fear  in  that,  or  any  other  quarter.  Eut  there's 
his  knock  ;  he  and  my  husband  have  returned,  and  I  must 
break  this  blessed  news  to  him  by  degrees,  lest  it  might  be 
too  much  for  him  if  communicated  without  due  and  proper 
caution." 

She  accordingly  went  down  to  the  hall,  where  they  were 
hanging  up  their  great  coats  and  hats,  and  brought  them  into 
her  husband's  study. 

"  Mr.  FoUiard,"  said  she  with  a  cheerful  face,  "  I  think, 
from  some  symptoms  of  improvement  noticed  to-day  in 
Helen,  that  we  needn't  be  without  hope." 

"Alas,  alas  J"  exclaimed   the    ooor  father,"!    have  no 


2QO  WILL  y  REILL  y. 

hope  ;  after  such  a  length  of  time  I  am  hideed  without  a 
shadow  of  expectation.  If  unfortunate  Reilly  we.e  here,  in- 
deed her  seeing  him,  as  that  SUgo  doctor  told  me,  might  give 
her  a  chance.  He  saw  her  about  a  week  before  we  came 
down,  and  those  were  his  words.  But  as  for  Reilly,  even  if 
he  were  in  the  country,  how  could  I  look  him  in  the  face  ? 
What  wouldn't  I  give  now  that  he  were  here,  that  Helen  was 
well,  and  that  one  word  of  mine  could  make  them  man  and 
wife  ? " 

"  Well,  well,"  she  replied,  "  don't  be  cast  down  ;  perhaps 
I  could  tell  you  good  news  if  I  wished." 

"  You're  beating  about  the  bush,  Mary,  at  all  events,"  said 
her  husband,  laughing. 

"  Perhaps,  now,  Mr.  Folliard,"  she  continued,  "  I  could 
introduce  a  young  lady  who  is  so  fond  of  you,  old  and  ugly  as 
you  are,  that  she  would  not  hesitate  to  kiss  you  tenderly,  and 
cry  with  delight  on  your  bosom,  you  old  thief." 

They  both  started  at  her  words  with  amazement,  and  her 
husband  said  :  "  Egad,  Alick,  Helen's  malady  seems  catching. 
What  the  deuce  do  you  mean,  Molly  ?  or  must  I,  too,  send 
for  a  doctor  ?  " 

"  Shall  I  introduce  you  to  the  lady,  though  ? "  she  pro- 
ceeded, addressing  the  father  ;  "but  remember  that,  if  I  do, 
you  must  be  a  man,  Mr.  Folliard  ! " 

"  In  God's  name  !  do  what  you  like,"  said  Mr.  Hamilton, 
"  but  do  it  at  once. 

She  went  up  stairs,  and  said,  "  As  I  do  not  wish  to  bring 
your  father  up,  Helen,  until  he  is  prepared  for  a  meeting  with 
Mr.  Reilly,  I  will  bring  you  down  to  him.  The  sight  of  you 
now  will  give  him  new  life." 

"  Oh,  come,  then,"  said  Helen,  "  bring  me  to  my  father  ; 
do  not  lose  a  moment,  not  a  moment! — oh,  let  me  see  him 
instantly ! " 

The  poor  old  man  suspected  something.  "  For  a  thou 
sand  !  "  said  he,  "  this  is  some  good  news  about  Helen  !  " 

"Make  your  mind  up  for  that,"  replied  his  friend;  "a 
sure  as  you  live  it  is  ;  and  if  it  be,  bear  it  stoutly." 

In  the  course  of  a  few  minutes  Mrs.  Hamilton  entered  the. 
room  with  Helen,  now  awakened  to  perfect  reason,  smiling, 
and  leaning  upon  her  arm.  "Oh,  dear  papa!"  she  ex- 
claimed, meeting  him,  with  a  flood  of  tears,  and  resting  her 
head  on  his  bosom. 

"  What,  my  darling! — my  darling  !  And  you  know  papa 
once  more! — you  know  him  again,  my  darling  Helen!  Oh, 


l^yiLL  V  REILL  Y. 


391 


thanks  be  to  God  for  this  happy  clay  !  "  And  he  kissed  her 
lips,  and  pressed  her  to  his  heart,  and  wept  over  her  with 
ecstas}'  and  delight.     It  was  a  tender  and  tearful  embrace. 

"  Oh,  papa!  "  said  she,  "  I  fear  I  have  caused  you  much 
pain  and  sorrow  :  something  has  been  wrong,  but  1  am  well 
now  that  he  is  here.  I  felt  the  tones  of  his  voice  in  my 
heart." 

"  Who,  darling,  who  ?  ' 

"  Reilly,  papa." 

"  Hamilton,  bring  him  down  instantly  ;  but  oh,  Helen, 
darling,  how  will  I  see  him  .'' — how  can  I  see  him  .''  but  he 
must  come,  and  we  must  all  be  happy      Bring  him  down," 

"  You  know,  papa,  that  Reilly  is  generosity  itself." 

"  He  is,  he  is,  Helen,  and  how  could  I  blame  you  for 
loving  him  .''  " 

Reilly  soon  entered  ;  but  the  old  man,  already  overpow- 
ered by  what  had  just  occurred,  was  not  able  to  speak  to 
him  for  some  time.  He  clasped  and  pressed  his  hand,  how- 
ever, and  at  length  said  : 

"  My  son  !  my  son  !  Now,"  he  added,  after  he  had 
recovered  himself,  "  now  that  I  have  both  together,  I  will 
not  allow  one  minute  to  pass  until  I  give  you  both  my  bless- 
ing ;  and  in  due  time,  when  Helen  gets  strong,  and  when  I 
get  a  little  stouter,  yow  shall  be  married  ;  the  parson  and 
the  priest  will  make  you  both  happV:  Reilly,  can  you  for- 
give me }  " 

"  I  have  nothing  to  forgive  you,  sir,"  replied  Reilly ; 
"  whatever  you  did  proceeded  from  your  excessive  affection 
for  your  daughter  ;  I  am  more  than  overpaid  for  anything  I 
may  have  suffered  myself;  had  it  been  ages  of  misery,  this 
one  moment  would  cancel  the  memory  of  it  forever." 

"  I  cannot  give  you  my  estate,  Reilly,"  said  the  old  man, 
*'  for  that  is  entailed,  and  goes  to  the  next  male  issue  ;  but  I 
can  give  you  fifty  thousand  pounds  with  my  girl,  and  that  will 
keep  you  both  comfortable  for  life." 

''  I  thank  you,  sir,"  replied  Reilly,  "  and  for  the  sake  of 
your  daughter  I  will  not  reject  it ;  but  I  am  myself  in  inde- 
pendent circumstances,  and  could,  even  without  your  gen- 
erosity, support  Helen  in  a  rank  of  life  nut  unsuitable  to  her 
condition." 

It  is  well  known  that,  during  the  period  in  which  the  inci- 
dents of  our  story  took  place,  no  man  claiming  the  charac- 
ter of  a  gentleman  ever  travelled  without  his  own  servant  to 
attend  him.     After  Reilly's  return   to  his  native  place,  his 


392 


WILL  y  KEILL  Y. 


first  inquiries,  as  might  be  expected,  were  after  his  Cooleen 
Bawn  ;  and  his  next,  after  those  who  had  been  in  some  de- 
gree connected  with  those  painful  circumstances  in  which  he 
had  been  involved  previous  to  his  trial  and  conviction.  He 
found  Mr.  Brown  and  Mr.  Hastings  much  in  the  same  state 
in  which  he  left  them.  The  latter,  who  had  been  entrusted 
with  all  his  personal  and  other  property,  under  certain  con- 
ditions, that  depended  upon  his  return  after  the  term  of  his 
sentence  should  have  expired,  now  restored  to  him,  and 
again  reinstated  him  on  the  original  terms  into  all  his  landed 
and  other  property,  together  with  such  sums  as  had  accrued 
from  it  during  his  absence,  so  that  he  now  found  himself  a 
wealthy  man.  Next  to  Coolcm  Baum,  however,  one  of  his 
first  inquiries  was  after  Fergus  Reilly,  whom  he  found  domi- 
ciled with  a  neighboring  middleman  as  a  head  servant,  or 
kind  of  under  steward.  We  need  not  describe  the  delight 
of  Fergus  on  once  more  meeting  his  beloved  relative  at  per- 
fect liberty,  and  free  from  all  danger  in  his  native  land. 

"Fergus,"  said  Reilly,  "I  understand  you  are  still  a 
bachelor — how  does  that  come  ?  " 

"  Why,  sir,"  replied  Fergus,  "  now  that  you  know  every- 
thing about  that  unhappy  state  of  the  Cooleen  Bawfi,  surely 
you  can't  blame  poor  Ellen  for  not  desartin'  her.  As  foi 
me  I  cared  nothing  about  any  other  girl,  and  I  never  could 
let  either  my  own  dhrame,  or  what  you  said  was  yours,  out 
o'  my  head.  I  still  had  hope,  and  I  still  have,  that  she  may 
recover." 

Reilly  made  no  reply  to  this,  for  he  feared  to  entertain 
the  vague  expectation  to  which  Fergus  alluded. 

"  Well,  Fergus,"  said  he,  "  although  I  have  undergone 
the  sentence  of  a  convict,  yet  now,  after  my  return,  I  am  a 
rich  man.  For  the  sake  of  old  times — of  old  dangers  and 
old  difficulties — I  should  wish  you  to  live  with  me,  and  to 
attend  me  as  my  own  personal  servant  or  man.  I  shall  get 
you  a  suit  of  livery,  and  the  crest  of  O'Reilly  shall  be  upon 
it.  I  wish  you  to  attend  upon  me,  Fergus,  because  you 
understand  me,  and  because  I  never  will  enjoy  a  happy 
heart,  or  one  day's  freedom  from  sorrow  again.  All  hope 
of  that  is  past,  but  you  will  be  useful  to  me — and  that  you 
know." 

Fergus  was  deeply  affected  at  these  words,  although  he 
was  gratified  in  the  highest  degree  at  the  proposal.  In  the 
course  of  a  few  days  he  entered  uj3on  his  duties,  immedi- 
ately after  which    Reilly  set  out  on  his   journey  to   Mona- 


WILL  V  REILL  Y. 


393 


ghan,  to  see  once  more  his  beloved,  but  unhappy,  Cooleen 
Bawn.  On  arriving  at  that  handsome  and  hospitable  town,  he 
put  up  at  an  excellent  inn,  called  the  "  Westenra  Arms,"  kept 
by  a  man  who  was  the  model  of  innkeepers,  known  by  the 
soubriquet  of  "honest  Peter  M'Philips."  We  need  not  now 
recapitulate  that  with  which  the  reader  is  already  acquainted; 
but  we  cannot  omit  describing  a  brief  interview  which  took 
place  in  the  course  of  a  few  days  after  the  restoration  of  the 
Cooleen  Bawn  to  the  perfect  use  of  her  reason,  between  two 
individuals,  who,  we  think,  have  some  claim  upon  the  good- 
will and  good  wishes  of  our  readers.  We  allude  to  Fergus 
Reilly  and  the  faithful  Ellen  Connor.  Seated  in  a  comforta^- 
ble  room  in  the  aforesaid  inn — now  a  respectable  and  admir- 
ably kept  hotel — with  the  same  arms  over  the  door,  were  the 
two  individuals  alluded  to.  Before  them  stood  a  black  bottle 
of  a  certain  fragrant  liquor,  as  clear  and  colorless  as  water 
from  the  purest  spring,  and,  to  judge  of  it  by  the  eye  quite  as 
harmless;  but  there  was  the  mistake.  Never  was  hypocrisy 
better  exemplified  than  by  the  contents  of  that  bottle.  The 
liquor  in  question  came,  Fergus  was  informed,  from  the  green 
woods  of  Truagh,  and  more  especially  from  a  townland  nam^d 
Derrygola,  famous,  besides,  for  stout  men  and  pretty  girls. 

"  Well,  now,  Ellen  darlin',"  said  Fergus,  "  if  ever  any  two 
bachelors*  were  entitled  to  drink  their  own  healths,  surely 
you  and  I  are.  Here's  to  us — a  happy  marriage,  soon  and 
sudden.     As  for  myself,  I've  had  the  patience  of  a  Tojan." 

Helen  pledged  him  beautifully  with  her  eyes,  but  very 
moderately  with  the   liquor. 

"  Bedad  !  "  he  proceeded,  "  seven  years — ay,  and  a  half — ■ 
wasn't  a  bad  apprenticeship,  at  any  rate;  but  as  I  tould  Mr. 
Reilly  before  he  left  the  country — upon  my  sowl,  says  I,  Mr. 
Reilly,  she's  worth  waitin'  for;  and  he  admitted  it." 

"  But,  Fergus,  did  ever  anything  turn  out  so  happy  for  all 
parties?     To  me  it's  like  a  dream;  I  can  scarcely  believe  it.' 

"  Faith,  and  if  it  be  a  dhrame,  I  hope  it's  one  we'll  never 
waken  from.  And  so  the  four  of  us  are  to  be  married  on  the 
same  day,  and  we're  all  to  live  with  the  squire." 

"We  are,  Fergus;  the  Cooleen  Baton  will  have  it  so;  but, 
indeed,  her  father  is  as  anxious  for  it  almost  as  she  is.  Ah, 
no,  Fergus,  she  could  not  part  with  her  faithful  Ellen,  as  she 
calls  me ;  nor,  after  all,  Fergus,  would  her  faithful  Elten  wish 
to  part  with  her." 

*  "  Baclielor,"  in  Ireland,  especially  in  the  country  parts  of  it,  where 
English  is  not  spoken  correctly,  is  frequently  applied  to  both  the  sexes. 


394 


IVILL  Y  REILL  V. 


"And  he's  to  make  me  steward;  begad,  and  if  I  don't 
make  a  good  one,  I'll  make  an  honest  one.  Faith,  at  all 
events,  Ellen,  we'll  be  in  a  condition  to  provide  for  the  chil- 
dre',  plaise  God." 

Ellen  gave  him  a  blushing  look  of  reproach,  and  desired 
him  to  keep  a  proper  tongue  in  his  head. 

**  But  what  will  we  do  with  the  five  hundred,  Ellen,  that  the 
squire  and  Mr.  Reilly  made  up  between  them?" 

"  We'll  consult  Mr.  Reilly  about  it,"  she  replied,  "  and  no 
doubt  but  he'll  enable  us  to  lay  it  out  to  the  best  advantage. 
Now,  Fergus,  dear,  I  must  go,"  she  added ;  "  you  know  she 
can't  bear  me  even  now  to  be  any  length  of  time  away  from 
her.  Here's  God  bless  them  both,  and  continue  them  in  the 
happiness  they  now  enjoy." 

"Amen,"  replied  Fergus,  "  and  here's  god  bless  ourselves, 
and  make  us  more  lovin'  to  one  another  every  day  we  rise; 
and  here's  to  take  a  foretaste  of  it  now,  you  thief." 

Some  slight  resistance,  followed  by  certain  smaking  sounds, 
closed  the  interview;  for  Ellen,  having  started  to  her  feet, 
threw  on  her  cloak  arid  bonnet,  and  hurried  out  ot  the  room, 
giving  back,  however,  a  laughing  look  a  Fergus,  as  she  escaped. 

In  a  few  months  afterwards  they  were  married,  and  lived 
with  the  old  man  until  he  became  a  grandfather  to  two  chil- 
dren, the  eldest  a  boy,  and  the  second  a  girl.  Upon  the 
same  day  of  their  marriage  their  humble  but  faithful  friends 
were  also  united;  so  that  there  was  a  double  wedding.  The 
ceremony,  in  the  case  of  Reilly  and  his  Cooleeii  Bawn,  was 
performed  by  the  Reverend  Mr.  Brown  first,  and  the  parish 
priest  afterwards;  Mr.  Strong,  who  had  been  for  several 
years  conjoined  to  Mrs.  Smellpriest,  having  been  rejected  by 
both  parties  as  the  officiating  clergyman  upon  the  occasion, 
although  the  lovely  bride  was  certainly  his  j)arishioner.  Age 
and  time,  however,  told  ui)on  the  old  man;  and  at  the  expi- 
ration of  three  years  they  laid  him,  with  many  tears,  in  the 
grave  of  his  fathers.  Soon  after  this  Reilly  and  his  wife, 
accompanied  by  Fergus  and  Ellen — for  the  Cooleefi  Baivn 
would  not  be  separated  from  the  latter — removed  to  the  Con- 
tinent, where  they  had  a  numerous  family,  principally  of  sons; 
and  we  need  not  tell  our  learned  readers,  at  least,  that  those 
young  men  distinguished  not  only  themselves,  but  their  name, 
by  acts*of  the  most  brilliant  courage  in  continental  warfare. 
And  so,  gentle  reader,  ends  the  troubled  history  of  Willy 
Reilly  and  his  own  Cooleen  Bawn. 

THE    END. 


7 


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